Harry Potter and the Dark Fortress
by Miss Laine
Summary: AU 6th Year. While Harry may have stumbled at the end of fifth year, he's learned to pick himself back up. Now, it's time to rise to the occasion and make his stand. He has his friends, of course, but in the end there are some things he must do alone.
1. Summer Can't Get Any Worse

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of its characters or settings. So don't sue me or anything.

A/N: Here it is. The start of my long HP piece. It took me a while to decide if I wanted to do it in Rowling's style, a darker style…or the style I eventually chose…a mix! This is just a teaser, sort of. It will take a bit to get the next chapter out, but it will go faster if I get reviews telling me that people really do want to see where this goes. I promise that if I do get a good response to this, I will finish it. I hate it when a story just ends somewhere in the middle, leaving you high and dry. So do not fear. It will not stay a WIP forever. –Miss Laine

A/N #2: All right. I've revised, revised, reread, reread, revised, ad nauseum. Not sure I spelled 'nauseum' right, though. Anyway, I was working on like the sixteenth chapter or something and realized that some of my plot elements were not the way I had originally planned. I changed some things, some subtle, some not, and hopefully it's all for the better. I will base whether I keep all my revisions or not based on the response I get to these changes, so please remember to review! P.S. Sorry for such a horribly long wait, when I said I'd try to update once a week. I couldn't find my disk drive thingy for my laptop until about two days ago, and I'm working two jobs so I don't have that much time. Thanks for hanging in there with me, though! Miss Laine

00000000000000 Chapter 1: Summer Can't Get Any Worse 0000000000000

Anyone passing by Number 4, Privet Drive, on that sweltering day near mid-July, would probably not have seen the resident in the smallest bedroom on the second floor. The window was closed, despite the heat, and the room was dark and muggy.

Inside the room, though, a young man sat on a threadbare bed, holding a picture album on his lap. It was open to the young man's favorite picture—a happy quintet, one girl and four boys. They were waving madly up at the teenager, smiling and laughing from the small photograph.

The teen sighed and watched the five laugh and joke. Absently, he rubbed the side of his head with the heel of his hand, trying subconsciously to do something about his headache, but he did not take much notice of it. He'd had headaches off and on for a while now, and he assumed that they were probably after-effects of the end of his…tragic…school year.

What mattered at the moment was the photograph, and the people in it. Three of those people were dead. One of them was worse than dead…a horrible traitorous murderer. And the fifth…he was alone now, stranded, none of his friends left alive.

The young man sighed again and pushed his hair back from his forehead, revealing the lightening-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. Harry Potter missed his godfather horribly. He missed the parents he'd never met, he missed having someone that cared for him…he felt just as alone as he figured Moony felt.

He was isolated here at Privet Drive, with no one around that even cared that he was alive.

He closed the photo album carefully and leaned over the edge of his bed in order to slide it underneath. A slight reflection caught his eye and he noticed the mirror that Sirius had given him, the shards all piled together on the mirror's backing. With trembling fingers, he slid it forward, gazing down at his shattered reflection.

Despite the distorted image, he could see that he looked a little different than he had at the start of the summer. For one, he'd finally hit a belated growth spurt. He'd probably grown about two inches, maybe a little more. Bitterly, he thought perhaps it had to do with years of Hogwarts food counteracting years of starvation at the hands of his relatives. There was no other way to explain why he had been so much shorter than other first years in the pictures he had from that year.

He thought perhaps he also looked a little less like a naïve little boy. The embarrassing way his voice had cracked and squeaked towards the end of fifth year and into the summer had slowly evened out, and it seemed his voice was a little deeper now. Finally, he thought distractedly, perhaps I might live long enough to be the 'Man-Who-Lived.'

He was still stick-thin, though. His relatives didn't feel like being generous with his food, and he didn't have Molly Weasley's good food to keep him filled. Not that he had much of an appetite, anyway. Every time he sat down to do something, like eating or reading, and let his mind wander, he'd start thinking about Sirius and the Department of Mysteries. And that, of course, always killed his appetite.

At least he had a bit of tan now, from working outside so much. He didn't like taking his shirt off outside usually—he thought he was too thin, and he didn't like people to see the scar at his elbow or on that same arm from the basilisk. People always asked about that if they saw him working in the front yard. Probably Aunt Petunia would have him down there again soon, slaving away over some plant or another.

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It was only a little more than two weeks into summer, and Harry was feeling incredibly restless. He needed to get out. Go for a walk, visit the park, see a movie, something. He just wanted to get out of his relative's house and somewhere else for a while.

But that was the problem. He wasn't allowed out. It had been rather sharply explained to him that he had to stay on the Dursley property at all times. That had been after he'd set off some alarm or other the second morning back. He'd been headed to the store for eggs for his Aunt Petunia when he'd been stopped by none other than Bill Weasley and Mad-eye Moody. They hadn't been too happy, but at least they hadn't hexed him or something.

According to them, he was not safe in the least if he left the Dursley property. Tracking spells and the like could be used to find him when he was off the property, and the Order couldn't have that many members on 'guard' duty. Moody had given him a short note to give to his relatives explaining that he could not leave the property for any reason, and that had been that. It had left Harry slightly disgruntled and infinitely more depressed. He was a prisoner, really, on the Dursley property. He couldn't do _anything._

So now he was here, in his room, staring at the remains of a mirror and wondering why his life had to be so busy one moment, then deadly dull the next. A happy medium would be nice, he decided. Something where he didn't have to be racing around, scared, in pain, etcetera, and then afterwards sitting there doing nothing, going over all the mistakes he had made.

Oh well. He'd already done two essays, one for Charms and one for Transfiguration. He'd already decided that he wouldn't do the Potions essay until he knew how his OWLs had gone. Dumbledore had mentioned that OWL results would be late this summer because of inconsistencies in testing—that meant Dumbledore had to figure out what to do to sort through Umbridge's interference.

He didn't hold out much hope for achieving the needed 'Outstanding' in Potions. There was no way he would've gotten anything above an average, and Snape wouldn't even consider letting him into the NEWT level class with a grade like that.

All in all, it had been a pretty lousy summer.

After the rather over-dramatic warning at the train station, he had sort of expected to have a better summer than last. Perhaps be left alone by his relatives, get lots of letters from his friends, that sort of thing. Have an almost normal summer, if at all possible. He just wanted to be able to have a little normalcy in his life, like other kids, muggle or otherwise, seemed to have. But instead nothing had gotten better. His situation was tense, at best, and it didn't seem likely that it would get any better.

Near the beginning of the summer, Dumbledore had sent him a letter almost immediately stating that Hermione, Ron, and any others would not be able to write him. It was too dangerous for owls and for himself, so he was effectively cut off from everyone _but _Dumbledore, who seemed able to send owls no matter the conditions. Harry almost felt like defying Dumbledore's order, but he didn't want to risk Hedwig. If anything happened to her, he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

At least he would receive his OWL results. Maybe.

The only owl that he was allowed to use was the small brown owl that came every three days in order to deliver a short note from Dumbledore and pick up his own letter of assurances for the Order. It was not very fun or interesting at all.

The Dursleys had not left him alone, either. They let Harry write his letter to the Order every three days, afraid of what would happen if they stopped him, but otherwise they kept everything locked up and hidden away. He still had to do chores, as usual, but he almost welcomed the escape from his overwhelming boredom.

He did not like to be bored. Not this summer. It gave him too much time to think, to go over the dreams he had every night…Sirius…falling, falling…

He shook himself out of those thoughts for probably the thousandth time that morning. It was hard not to think of his godfather. He'd lost him because of his stupid mistake, his stupid decisions. Sirius would still be here if it weren't for him. If only he had listened to Hermione.

That was one of his new rules. Listen to Hermione. He trusted her, of course, and he also knew that she was much smarter than him. If he'd listened to her, Sirius would still be alive. That was enough proof for him.

"BOY!!!" he heard suddenly. It was his aunt, shouting for him. She'd gotten grouchier this summer, with a shorter temper. She tended to take more swings at him with the frying pan than before, and he really had to be on his toes to dodge every swing. If one connected, he'd probably be knocked out, he figured.

That was the odd thing with his relatives this summer. While Vernon really seemed to have been intimidated by the Order, Petunia had become more aggressive. Vernon paled whenever Harry mentioned his 'friends,' while Petunia would tell him to stop being arrogant and get on with his chores. Sometimes, if he really frightened his uncle, Petunia would even take a swing at him. This was not what he had expected from his relatives. Usually his uncle was the one to want to hurt him or scare him or whatever; not his aunt. But she was refusing all attempts to intimidate her this summer.

Harry supposed it had to do with the Dementor incident with Dudley. Certainly, his cousin was not the same boy that he had always been—he was pale and thinner and tired all the time, as if he could not get over the terrible things he had heard and seen when near the Dementor. Harry still didn't know what Dudley had seen or heard, and he could never get within ten feet of his cousin without the other teen running for it. Whatever he'd heard, Harry decided, it had to have been pretty bad to Dudley.

Probably someone telling him he couldn't eat ever again, Harry thought with a sarcastic smirk, then sobered. Dementors weren't funny, and he shouldn't expect Dudley to be able to get past their effect very quickly. Especially since he really didn't understand just what Dementors were. If he could only get Dudley to listen to him, just for a few moments, he would be able to explain that Dementors brought up your worst memories and fears, but Dudley usually ran the other way if he heard him coming.

Oddly, it was a lot like how Harry had spent his summers before Hogwarts—except he had been the one running from the other.

Harry could hear his aunt stomping around angrily downstairs, and rolled his eyes. Her antagonism was really starting to irritate him now. He didn't remember her ever being this way to him—well, at least not constantly—and now that he was old enough and strong enough to not have to worry about being afraid of her, it annoyed him instead.

He rolled off his bed and trudged to the door of his room, opening it slowly. "Coming!" he called, trying to keep most of the annoyance out of his voice. She probably wanted him to weed or water or something. She was always calling him down to do things like that.

He stomped down the staircase slowly, a little grumpy at being jerked from his thoughts so rudely. In the kitchen, his aunt was holding a pair of pruning shears. "The rosebushes along the fence need to be trimmed, boy," she told him sharply. Harry wondered idly why none of his relatives ever called him by his name. Potter was the best he ever got, though they managed to make that sound like an insulting occupation rather than his last name. "I expect it done before dinner, or you won't be eating."

"Fine, Aunt Petunia," he grumbled. He took the shears from her outstretched fingers and walked past her and out the back door. He could just imagine her watching him, hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed. She didn't trust him not to chop the roses to tiny pieces, but she still made him do all the work.

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The sun was shining down hotly in the backyard. He clipped each rosebush slowly, mind blissfully blank for once. It was too hot to do much thinking, and he was perfectly content to just watch the chunks of rose-stem fall to the ground. The heat and the glare on the white roses was making his already-bothersome headache worse, and he stopped several times just to close his eyes and rub his temples.

The headaches he'd been having was something new to him. When he'd been younger, he'd never had headaches like this—where the ache would last for several days at least, varying randomly in intensity. They'd started gradually, when he'd had a headache maybe two days after reaching Privet Drive again, and the first had lasted just a few hours.

Now, his present headache had lasted most of the week. Most of the time, it was just a dull ache somewhere in his head, but other times the pain would flare up unexpectedly. The pain didn't seem to be coming from his scar or in any way connected to it, so he hadn't mentioned it in any of his letters, but it was annoying. All the chores made it worse, as well, and every night that he had a nightmare or for some other reason lost sleep, he woke up with even more pain. He'd taken to borrowing Tylenol from the medicine cabinet when he could, but it didn't really seem to do much more than take the barest edge of his aches. So much for Muggle medicine, he'd quickly decided.

He stopped trimming bushes again as sweat dripped down his face, and set down the shears while he rubbed his face with the heels of his hands. He felt tired and slow, and all he really wanted to do was go back up to his dark room and lie down.

Sighing, he picked up the shears and went back to work, snipping bits off the next bush with careful movements.

"Hot work there, son," a voice said above him. He jumped about a foot in the air and whirled around. He stopped himself from pulling his wand from his waistband only at the last moment.

A man was looking over the fence, leaning his arms on the tops of the boards. "Sorry I startled you," the man said apologetically.

"I'm all right," Harry said.

"Name's Lewis Cauldwell," the man said. "Just moved in here."

"Ha—Hello," Harry started to say, then hesitated. The man's voice sounded…familiar? He wasn't sure if he was just being paranoid or not, but there was no way he was giving this man his real name. "My name's Christopher Dursley," he said, making up the name on the moment. He didn't like having to say he was a Dursley, but it couldn't be helped.

Mr. Cauldwell smiled. "Most boys your age are out with friends," the man commented. "Trying to earn up money for a car?" he asked. Harry nodded after a moment.

"Yeah, that's it," he agreed. "My Aunt and Uncle pay me to take care of the garden."

"They're not your parents?" Mr. Cauldwell asked.

"Nah. My Uncle's brother was my father," he lied. "He was killed in a car accident, along with my mom."

"Oh," the man said, looking slightly embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

Harry shrugged. He didn't want the man to feel guilty, just in case he was trustworthy. "It's all right. They died when I was three," he said. That was only a slightly modification to the truth. He'd just have to remember to keep the story straight. And hopefully this Lewis guy wouldn't talk to his Aunt or Uncle anytime soon. "Look—I have to get back to my work," he said. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Cauldwell," he added, turning back towards the rosebushes. The man nodded, and then suddenly laughed.

"Well done, Harry," he said. "I'd give that a nine out of ten."

Harry had his wand out in an instant, trained on the strange man with the not-so-strange voice.

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A/N: Argh! A cliffie!! I always hate these things, but this is it. I haven't quite decided who the stranger is…but I'm plotting out both possibilities and seeing if perhaps this stranger won't reveal himself on his own. Please review if you read this, even if it is just a few words. I won't continue it if I don't get a response!


	2. Boiling Over

Disclaimer: See first chapter

A/N: Here is the second chapter. It's a little longer than the first, and I'm going to try to eventually build them up to ten pages or so each. I just wanted to get a few out quickly, especially since a few people were nice enough to review my first chapter. I'm not the greatest at making interesting first chapters, but hopefully after a few people will see that this could be decent. –Miss Laine

00000000000000000000 Chapter 2: Boiling Over 00000000000000000000

Harry eyed the man suspiciously, wand trained steadily on his heart. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The man laughed again. "It's all right, Harry. It's Remus."

"Whaa?" Harry said, surprised. "But—"

"Polyjuice, Harry. Give me a few more minutes and it should wear off," the man promised.

"How do I know you're Professor Lupin?" he asked. "Prove it."

"Hmm…" the man thought. "Er…Prongs was your father, Harry." He paused and grimaced. "I guess that's not a good one," he admitted. "Uh, in third year we worked together after classes on a Patronus. We used a boggart that took the shape of a dementor," he went on. "Is that good enough?"

"Yeah," Harry said, relieved. "I believe you. That and your eyes have started to change back," he added. He waited a bit as the rest of Remus appeared, sandy hair taking the place of brown, face changing to the haggard form that Harry knew. "You could come over here, you know," he added. Remus nodded, and Harry waited for him to come around the fence at the end of the drive.

"I just thought I'd give you a little test," Remus explained. "Moody's still on about how we almost lost you at the beginning of the summer."

"Was it really that dangerous?" Harry asked, surprised. There hadn't been a soul about the entire time, and he pointed that out.

"Well, you didn't hear Moody and Bill arriving, either," Remus pointed out. "I think Moody said there were five death eaters trailing you by the time they caught up with you. For some reason they were just following you. That's why Moody took you back the long way. Didn't want them following you back here."

"So they still can't find the house," Harry concluded. Remus nodded. "That's right." He grimaced again. "Well, at least we hope so. Only a few more weeks until you're sixteen, isn't it?" Harry nodded. He'd been wondering if he'd even be allowed to receive gifts from his friends this year…it didn't seem likely.

"Yeah. Sixteen," he echoed. It had been a little less than five years since he'd learned that he was a wizard. A long time, for him.

"You're looking a little thin, Harry," Remus said suddenly. "Are they feeding you all right?"

"Fine, fine," Harry assured Remus, though in fact he hadn't gotten any lunch, and hadn't felt hungry enough to sneak anything. "Growth spurt, you know," he explained. Remus laughed.

"You're looking a few inches taller these days," he said. "You're growing up."

"Finally," Harry said. Remus laughed again.

"In another ten years, Harry, you'll be wishing you'd quit getting older. You'll see," he said.

Harry privately wondered if he'd live long enough to have thoughts ten years from now. He quickly scratched that thought from his mind. No more depressing thoughts, he told himself sternly. He'd had enough of those when trying to deal with Sirius's death at the beginning of the summer. It had not been a good time for him.

"Look, Harry, I can't hang around here for long, but I did bring you a birthday gift," Remus said. He sounded slightly nervous now.

"Thanks," Harry said. At least he was going to get something for his birthday. "Hey—do you want to sit down somewhere? Petunia probably won't let you in the house, but there's a table out back."

"Sure," Remus agreed. Harry could now see that he had his hand in his pocket, fingering something.

"Get him out of here! OUT!"

Harry jumped at his aunt's screeches. She had seen them, and was stalking towards them now, face red with anger. "Look—"

"OUT!!!" Petunia shouted. "I won't have him here a moment longer! Not a single moment!!"

"But—" Harry tried again. Petunia stalked up to him, face threatening.

"He leaves, now. That freak leaves!" she snarled. Harry started to get a little annoyed. He spread his stance a little, crossing his arms angrily.

"Now wait just a—" he started.

CRACK!

His aunt's hand moved so fast he couldn't even think to dodge the blow. "Now see here!" Remus said sharply. Harry was still dazed, a hand on his stinging cheek. "That was uncalled for!"

"Get off my property, you freak. Think I don't remember you? One of that stupid Potter's friends?" Petunia snapped. "We put up with the boy, we feed the boy, we keep him safe…but we will not have more freaks showing up all the time. I am a respectable, normal person!"

"Sure you are," Harry muttered sullenly. His cheek still hurt, and he thought perhaps it might bruise.

"What was that, boy??" Petunia demanded, whirling on him.

"Nothing, nothing," he muttered grouchily.

"Er, Harry, I'd better go," Remus said nervously. Harry looked up.

"What? But—" he protested. Remus eyed his aunt gingerly and then inched around her in order to give him a one-armed hug. Harry felt whatever his present was slip down into his pants pocket from Remus's hand.

"Look, I'll talk to Dumbledore, Harry," Remus promised. "I'll try to get you out of here, but…well, we'll see, all right?"

"But—" Harry said again. Remus pulled away, eyes on Aunt Petunia now. Harry started to get angry again.

"I—I'll be back, Harry," Remus promised. "And if you hurt him, Mrs. Dursley, there's be hell to pay," he threatened.

Before Harry could say anything more, Remus had stepped off the edge of the property, looking around furtively, and then disappeared. Harry blinked, and then turned towards his aunt.

"What was that for?" he demanded. "He's my friend!"

CRACK!

His aunt smacked him hard again. Obviously, Remus's threat didn't mean anything to her.

She went to hit him again, but he caught her wrist and twisted the blow away. "I'm not a little boy anymore," he told her sharply. "That means you don't get to hit me!"

Petunia stepped closer, angrier than he ever remembered her being. "I can do just what I want, Potter," she hissed venomously. "Because if you don't do what we say, we'll kick you right out of here. Then those Death Eaters can go ahead and have their way and kill you. Your precious freak friends wouldn't get to you in time!"

Harry was just a little taken aback by his aunt's anger. Somedays—okay, almost all days—he couldn't see the relation between this bony, sour, bitter woman and what he'd learned about what his mother was like. "Look—I do chores for you, Aunt Petunia, I make breakfast, clean the house, take care of the garden. I think the least that you can do is let me talk to a friend every now and then!" he told her. She raised her hand warningly again, and he readied himself to block the blow.

But instead she grabbed his ear. "I'm sick of your attitude," she snapped. "You sulk around half the time, fight with Dudley, act rudely towards your Uncle, and talk back to me!" She punctuated each sentence with another jerk on his ear as she pulled him towards the house.

"OW!" Harry exclaimed. His aunt was pushing it way too far. "Let go of me!"

"No!" his aunt snapped, jerking harder on his now-tender ear. "I have had enough of you! Dudley has had more troubles than any boy ought to have because of you, and after last summer, he'll never be the same!"

Despite the fact that he could, he was reluctant to physically fight back against his aunt. He had grown up belittled and intimidated by her and her husband, and he still instinctually feared what they could do to him.

He also didn't feel like getting thrown out of the house, especially when that could lead to his death. A sore ear seemed to be a small trade for his safety. And after last year, he really did understand that him being safe was more about other's well-beings than his own.

His aunt didn't let go of his ear until they were inside the kitchen. "I'll do the gardening from now on, or Dudley will," she told him. "If I catch you outside of this house even for an instant, I'll give you a hiding like you've never had before!"

"What do you mean never had before—" he started to snap back sarcastically, but had to stop as he dodged her hand. Lucky for him, he thought, she didn't have a frying pan within reach.

"You'll learn some respect for me!" she shouted. Her other hand grazed his nose almost as he leaned away from her next attack. "My husband and I have given you a home for fifteen years now, boy, and all we've ever gotten from you is insults and fights! It's going to stop, now!"

"What are you talking about?" Harry demanded. "Me, insult you?" he asked, incredulous. His aunt must really hate him if—he had to snap out of his thoughts as her hand caught him on the face again. His cheeks were starting to feel really abused now. She hadn't struck him like this in years.

They stared at each other now, her breathing heavily while Harry kept on his toes, ready to dodge any more blows.

"Look," he tried again. "I'll be gone in another month and a half. The next summer I'm only here until I'm seventeen. Then I can move out and you won't ever see me again."

"A month and a half!" his aunt screeched. "No! Not a chance! This has gone on much too long!"

"Well, where else am I supposed to go?" he asked patiently. He was tired of fighting her, and provoking her to hit him hadn't really been a great idea. "I have to stay here. Do you really want to explain to Dumbledore—hey!" he cried. She'd picked up the rolled-up newspaper off the table and hit him hard.

His eyes were tearing up and his nose hurt badly. "Don't you ever mention that name in this house!" she shouted. This was not the Aunt Petunia he remembered from last year. She was no longer frightened, but enraged.

Harry had to take a step backwards, leaning against the cabinets behind him, while he tried to blink away the tears in his eyes. His nose felt rather bruised, but it wasn't bleeding.

"I just mean that I can't go anywhere, Aunt Petunia!" he told her.

"Don't call me that!" she snapped.

"What—Petunia?" he asked.

"Aunt," she told him. "You may call me Petunia or Mrs. Dursley, boy, but I do not want to be referred to as your aunt!"

Harry was a little amazed at how badly this conversation had gone. His aunt was really on a roll today. She'd been pretty snappish and quick with the frying pan around him since the beginning of the summer, but it hadn't gone this far before.

A lot of it had to do with Dudley. He guessed he could sort of understand her being mad at him for that—it had been, in a way, his fault—but she was really pushing it too far. Dudley just needed to sit down and talk for a bit and he'd be fine. If she could ever get him to do it.

Harry almost laughed, but then remembered his aunt was standing right there. "What do you want me to do, then?" he asked. "If you don't want me outside—"

"Get to your room," she snapped. "My husband and I will discuss what to do with you this evening. And don't for an instant expect that you're allowed to come down for dinner!"

"Ookay," Harry said slowly, willing to stop arguing. All of the smacking and shouting and hitting had worsened his headache, and he didn't really feel like pushing it into a full migrane. An evening without dinner wouldn't be too bad, except for the fact that he hadn't had any lunch as well…or really that much breakfast. His stomach was really, really empty, but he figured he'd sneak out of his room at night and get something to eat. It wasn't like he really got much sleep anyway.

He slipped past his aunt, eyes on her hands, and then backed out of the room. Just in case she decided to throw something at him. When he was sure she wasn't going to suddenly attack him again, he turned and took the stairs two at a time, retreating to his bare little room.

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Up in his room, he took the small package out of his pocket. It was about the size of a pack of cards, and wrapped in brown paper. It felt slightly heavier than it looked, and he weighed it in his hands a few moments, remembering another package, a package he had not opened.

He wouldn't do that again.

He carefully picked the paper loose, prying it up from the tape that held it down. Inside, the object was clear…glass, it seemed.

The last of the paper fell away, and he looked at what he held. It was solid glass, a rounded rectangle about a half inch thick. But it was not blank. Seeming to float inside the glass was a white lily. No matter whether he looked at it from the back or front of the glass object, it always floated there, three-dimensional and perfect.

He looked at it from the side, and the glass was clear all the way through. As if there was no white flower inside of the glass…perhaps there wasn't, he decided. He checked the wrapper for a note, any note at all, and on the inside of the paper Remus had scrawled a few lines:

_'This was your mother's, Harry. I gave it to her for Christmas during our fourth year. It's enchanted so that it looks like there is a lily inside of it. She always liked it, and I received it out of her will. I thought perhaps it was time to hand it on.'_

_ --Moony_

Harry smiled. So it was magic. Even though it was purely decorative, he was glad to have it. It was something his mother had once held, and it was nice to have that reminder of his parents. Or at least of his mother…the most clear memory he retained of his father, besides his death, was him torturing Snape in school. Being a bully.

At least he still had his mother's memory to hold onto. No one had a bad word to say about her.

He held the glass piece in his hands until it was warm, staring at the white lily and wondering what his parents would say to him if they could. It was at times like this that he wished he had someone to talk to.

Besides his relatives, of course.

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He was reading one of his defense books when he heard the doorknob turn. He'd put his mother's possession under the floorboards already, determined to keep it from the Dursleys at all costs.

He'd tried hard to distract himself from the sounds and smells of dinner occurring downstairs, but it had been fruitless. His stomach was cramped with hunger and he felt slightly faint.

He set the book down and pulled his pillow over it as the door swung outwards, revealing his uncle, who had a rather angry expression on his face. "I heard you gave your aunt a hard time today, boy," he growled. Harry blinked.

"What?!" he exclaimed. "I did not! She started in on me—"

"Don't talk back to me, boy," his uncle growled. Harry was feeling slightly off balance from all this. It was like everything had just suddenly reach the boiling point and spilled over. This was already the most his Uncle had said to him all summer, and the man seemed to actually feel _brave _or something.

"But she—" he tried. "A friend of mine came over, and she—"

"She has every right to order your freaky friends off of our property!" his uncle shouted. His face was starting to turn an amazing shade of purple.

"I'm sorry, Uncle, but Remus—" Harry started. He was cut off once again.

"You will call me sir!" his uncle said. "You're sixteen now, and you'll behave like a man!"

"I'm sixteen in two weeks," he said. Finally, he managed a full sentence. Too bad his uncle did not like that particular sentence.

"I DON'T CARE!" he roared. "From now on, you're to stay in this room! Every time that ruddy bird comes for your message, I want to watch you write it. If I even see another of your freaky friends, I'll lock you up until you're eighteen!"

"Now wait just a minute here!" Harry exclaimed. He was sick and tired of his uncle pushing him around. He rolled off the bed and stood up, at eye level with his uncle now that he had grown some. "I'm not some little twelve year old you and lock up and starve, _sir,_" he added the sir in a sarcastic tone. "I'm fifteen, and I'm bloody well tired of being treated like a child!"

"Don't talk back to me, boy!" Vernon growled, but Harry could hear the man's voice weakening. It seemed that his common sense was catching up with him, and he was perhaps realizing that he was making a mistake staring something with Harry.

Harry breathed out, trying to calm himself.

"You know, the Order _will _show up if they don't hear from me," he warned. Some of the purple started to fade from his Uncle's face. "And Remus _did _mention that there would be hell to pay if you hurt me. And don't think I'm not too proud to tell them if something's wrong," he added. More purple faded.

"T-there's no need to get them involved, boy," he said, voice weaker still. Harry wanted to laugh. His uncle always had been a coward.

"Well, as long as you leave me alone, there won't be any problems, will there?" he asked, arms folded. Vernon blinked.

"N-no," he said slowly.

"Good," Harry said, smiling slightly. "I'm not going to get pushed around and smacked around by Aunt Petunia anymore, or I'll tell the Order."

"Now see here," Vernon began, getting some of his anger back. "She and I have raised you since—"

"And I'm _so _grateful," Harry said sarcastically. "Just stay away from me, and this summer'll be over before you know it."

Vernon flushed purple again, looking ready to explode from anger and fear all at once. "Fine," he said. "You want us to stay away from you, then we will," he growled.

And then, Vernon did one of the most courageous things that Harry had ever witnessed.

He backhanded his nephew hard and then almost ran from the room.

Of course, Harry didn't see most of this. He was too busy trying to stay conscious as he lay on the floor, having hit his head on the edge of his desk on the way down. He blinked slowly a few times, but it was a lost cause.

He was unconscious an instant later.

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When he woke up, it was dark. His head felt like a brick had been stuck inside of it, and his sore ear was throbbing.

Very slowly, he pushed his arms against the floor and sat up, blinking groggily. It wasn't as dark as he thought. Dim, like it was evening or early morning. The light was not on in his room, and the door was closed again. Probably locked as well.

He stayed on the floor for a few minutes, just trying to get everything to stay still and quit spinning, and then he felt his head, looking for wounds.

There was a sticky spot on his left temple. Where he had hit the desk, he decided. It didn't seem to be bleeding anymore, although he could see that there was a dark stain on the floor. Probably part of the reason why he was so dizzy, he decided.

After another few minutes, he managed to fold his legs under his body and push himself up. He swayed dangerously on the spot, feeling more than a little sick, and then staggered to the window. The curtains had been drawn, and he pulled them back…to see that his uncle had bolted the window shut. The only way he'd be able to open it at all would be to break it…and Vernon would surely notice that.

From what he could see, it looked to be late afternoon…had he really spent an entire day lying on the floor? And no one cared?

"Figures," he said bitterly, his voice echoing in the room. He felt a twist of fear as he turned back to his room. His trunk was gone. So were all of his books, his homework…everything… "Dammit, dammit, dammit," he muttered. Probably his uncle had locked everything up again. Or his aunt had told her husband to…it didn't really matter in the end. He didn't have his stuff anymore, and that was that.

In a sudden burst of strength, despite the emergence of a throbbing headache, he checked under the floorboards, and was relieved to see that his photo album, invisibility cloak, and mother's glass lily were still safe. His uncle had not found them. His wand was still snugly tucked against his waist in his pants. At least he still had the important things, he decided.

The door was his next goal. At the base, his foot hit something, and he realized that there was a bowl with an open can of cold soup in it, just inside the catflap that had been installed before his second year at Hogwarts. It had probably been sitting all day, but he moved it aside to eat later. He was starving for something to eat, anything to eat, and he wasn't going to throw away some soup because it might taste a little odd.

He tried opening the door a few times, pushing on it hard, but it was definitely locked. Probably all seven locks had been done up, just to be sure he couldn't get out. The hinges were on the outside, so he couldn't even pull the door out, even if he had the tools to do so. It was a hopeless situation…unless he could somehow get word to the Order. He didn't think Remus would manage to get Dumbledore to let him go somewhere else, but perhaps it would make Dumbledore worry enough to check on him…or perhaps he could put some clues into his notes that his uncle would not notice. Until then…his goal was to survive.

He was stuck, he realized. Just like before second year, except this time there was no one to rescue him and the danger was greater for any who did. It could attract the attention of death eaters, or Voldemort himself.

The new school year could not come fast enough.

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A/N: Here is chapter two. I'm only working about half a chapter ahead of what I post, so I won't always post regularly. It depends if I get stuck in ruts or not. This came out easy, and I have pretty much all the way up until the start of sixth year planned out in little notes. So please review. It encourages me to spend more time working on this story. Thanks!


	3. Clues in the Letters

Disclaimer: See first chapter, as usual.

A/N: For a few days now I've been brainstorming this plot out and writing out little notes to myself. So I've been kinda on a roll, but except updates to slow down after a week or two. My muse is bound to wander away for a bit eventually. Thanks for reading, and keep on reviewing! --Miss Laine

000000000000 Chapter 3: Clues in the Letters 000000000000000

Harry kept his head bent over the scrap of parchment in front of him, feeling more than seeing his aunt's agitated presence behind him. His uncle seemed to have disappeared after their confrontation and the single blow, though Harry could still hear the heavy man stomp down the stairs in the morning. He supposed, probably, that his uncle was too afraid of what could happen if he reminded Harry of that fact that he'd hit him. He couldn't wait for the time when he'd be able to get back at his uncle, though he was pretty sure he'd never tell the Order about the blow. It just wasn't in him to admit to them that he'd been smacked by his own uncle.

This was the third time now that he'd had to write a letter for the Order, the little brown owl waiting impatiently on the desk.

It had started coming through the chimney since it couldn't get in the windows, it seemed, and that alerted his aunt every time. The first time, Harry had still been angry enough to write a very honest letter telling the Order that his uncle was a jerk and his aunt wasn't much better—only to end up getting shouted at and smacked by his aunt again. She seemed to have lost all fear of the mysterious 'Order,' and Harry didn't care to argue with her more than necessary. Vernon was staying away, and usually his aunt didn't try to hit him. Sure, he was getting less to eat and he was confined to his room, but he didn't really care. He was too exhausted and weak to care.

That, and ever since the day he'd been re-imprisoned in his room, his headaches had gotten worse. Now, he figured, they bordered on full-blown migraines, and it wasn't often that he had a pain-free day. In fact, his present headache had already lasted for several hours, and the pain was a sharp, intense irritation that made him feel queasy. He just hoped they were a sign of stress or something, rather than connected to his scar and the pains he sometimes suffered from it. If they were…well, then eventually they would probably develop into something much worse.

After that first rather belligerent letter, his aunt had been even more short-tempered with him. And of course, he'd gotten nothing to eat all the next day…and that was after he'd finally written an acceptable letter.

This was the third letter, he decided. It had been…eight days. Two to the first letter, three to the second, and another three to this one. Six days until he was sixteen. What fun. He would get to spend it in the confines of his little cell, hoping that perhaps he'd get a little to eat. If he was quiet.

He probably wouldn't be. For the past several nights he'd started having nightmares again, and he was only glad that he hadn't had any 'visions,' real or otherwise. Just nightmares about the third task, about Voldemort, and especially about Sirius. It was like they were building up to something, from weak nightmares up to…he didn't want to imagine what. It wouldn't be nice.

Like the night before. He'd woken up from his own screaming and his aunt's shouting through the door. It had taken him hours to stop the shaking in his limbs from the memory of Voldemort's possession of his body less than two months before, and he hadn't gotten any more sleep until the next day.

Which was why, presently, he was so exhausted. He hadn't gotten a good night's sleep for over a week, and it was starting to really wear on him.

He had only gotten some toast and a can of pickled beets yesterday, each shoved through the catflap by a less than eager Petunia. Of course, he'd eaten both ravenously, starving for anything solid, but of course it hadn't been enough to do more than take the slightest edge off his appetite.

His relatives had also taken to only letting him out once a day to use the toilet. Of course, now that he was half-starved he only really needed to go to the bathroom once a day, but he missed getting a chance to shower and wash his hair. It was really kind of grimy now, after eight days of no washing. He just hoped he'd get a chance to wash it before he had to go back to Hogwarts. His friends might wonder just a little if he showed up at King's Cross looking and smelling like a homeless person.

That was another problem, he thought. How in bloody hell was he supposed to get to King's Cross this year, if it was horribly dangerous for him to even step off his relative's property? It wasn't like he could summon the Knight Bus or flag down a cab or something…but he figured Dumbledore would have some sort of plan. That was his only hope for getting out of here.

Before his relatives had taken to locking him up again, he'd had much more vague nightmares, especially right after he'd gotten back. Either his aunt, or, more rarely, his uncle would storm in and either smack him or shake him awake, shouting for him to keep his mouth shut so that they could sleep.

Now, he woke up screaming most nights, from nightmares or such. Most times, Petunia would bang on the door and tell him to shut up, and he'd snarl back that he'd shut up when he bloody well pleased.

He could have been more polite to them, he thought, but he really didn't feel like it. He was sick and tired of being locked up with no idea how to get out of the situation, and he felt like an idiot, letting his stupid muggle relatives lock him up, him, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived. Hell, he'd faced down Voldemort several times already, and he'd made it through that.

But of course, then he could do magic…

"Hurry it up, brat," his aunt snapped. He started, jerked out of his musings. So far, he hadn't written much, but he read over it quickly, trying to figure out how to work a few clues into the letter:

'_Dear Order,_

_I am fine. Everything here is great, and my Aunt and Uncle are treating me really well. My scar hasn't been hurting and I haven't had to do any chores at all.'_

He thought about it, and happened to glance at the corner where he usually kept Hedwig's cage. Except that she was at Ron's this summer, where it was safer…

_'Please check on Hedwig,' _he wrote, '_she's been locked in her cage all summer. Someone should let her out. I mean, it's almost her birthday, you know.' _

He hesitated. His aunt might or might not know when his birthday was. If he did, he'd probably be in trouble with the next line.

_'Her birthday's in six days, I think. A good present for her would be getting let out of her cage, don't you think? She'd really like Grimmauld Place, I bet.'_

Harry hurried to finish before his aunt could catch on. This was the best clue he could come up with, without getting hurt. If he got it to the owl soon, he'd hopefully be out by nightfall.

_'Anyway, that's all I have to write. I'll talk to you all later. –Harry'_

"Fine," his aunt said sharply. Harry breathed out slowly. It looked like he was going to get away with it. "Send it with the damn bird."

"Okay," Harry agreed. He rolled up the letter with trembling fingers and quickly tied it to the owl's leg. An instant later the bird was out of the room, zooming down the stairs and probably out the chimney. Harry just hoped it reached Dumbledore without troubles. And that the man knew what it meant.

"I don't want to hear a peep from you tonight," his aunt snapped. "A single word, and you'll wish you'd never been born, boy."

"Well, it's not like I can control it," he said sourly. He earned a sharp rap on the skull for this. For a moment, Harry considered fighting back—pushing his aunt aside and escaping from the room—but he knew it would be futile. He wouldn't be able to recover all of his stuff, and he wouldn't exactly be able to safely leave Privet Drive. He wasn't sure if the Order or Death Eaters would get to him first, if he left. It didn't seem worth the risk.

"You'd better learn, or I'll shut it for you," his aunt threatened, then stomped out of the room. Harry heard the seven locks click one after the other, effectively cutting Harry off from the world once more. When she was gone, his rolled his eyes and breathed out slowly. His aunt was getting way too out of control. Hopefully, the Order would figure something out before she tried to kill him in his sleep or something.

In the little sleep that he actually got, that is.

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"Don't move!" Dumbledore shouted, voice fearful. Harry stopped, confused. There was no reason to be afraid now. Voldemort had left, Bellatrix was stuck under a statue…

But then the pain came, the burning, all-consuming agony that turned Harry into a pain-wracked puppet for Voldemort.

_Just kill me, _he thought, _just let the pain end. Anything, anything at all to get this agony to stop…_

Voldemort forced his mouth to move, forced hissing words from his throat, and Harry could do nothing to stop it. He was a prisoner in his own body, trapped in the coils of the snake that was slowly squeezing the life from his body…

_'Kill the boy,' _Voldemort hissed with his mouth.

_Yes, kill me, _Harry thought frantically, trying to plead to Dumbledore though the man could not hear him. _Anything to end the pain…_

_And I will see Sirius again…_

Emotion filled him, longing, love, sorrow, all at once. He'd already lost his parents and now, because of his brazen stupidity, he had lost his godfather, had lost the man that his parents had named as the one they trusted with their child…

He had no one…

And the pain lifted, the coils loosened, and Harry was freed…

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Harry woke up screaming Sirius's name, as had happened with many of his nightmares previously. But this was worse. The nightmare was not over this time. This time his aunt was leaning over him, face twisted with anger as she glared down at him, a large pillow in her hands.

And, alarmingly, his body shook and ached like it never had before after a nightmare. Something was not right.

"I told you to keep it quiet!" his aunt shrieked. Harry wanted to strike out, wanted to fight back…but he was too weak. His muscles were shaking as if he had been possessed once more; his vision was blurry, and his mouth tasted of blood.

"Get…away…from me!" he shouted. His aunt stepped back a moment, but was forward again in an instant, pushing the pillow over Harry's face. Harry tried to pull free, but a tremor shot down his body and he couldn't fight back.

The pillow covered his mouth and nose too much. He couldn't breathe…but then the pillow exploded in a dust of feathers, and his aunt was knocked backwards.

Right into Vernon, who had come rushing in at the noise. He was knocked backwards as she hit him, and he fell backwards, head rapping sharply against the far wall. Harry could just see him lying there, probably unconscious.

Serves him right, Harry thought weakly. His turn to get knocked out, he thought, though it was still somewhat groggy. The whole 'almost smothered with a pillow' thing wasn't the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He gasped in air, still shaking and in pain from his nightmare, and then slowly, very, very slowly, sat up. He had to use his arms to even get that far, and they shook underneath him.

He was scared.

He'd never felt that much pain in any of the visions he'd had, and never before had he woken up in pain from a nightmare. He'd been nauseated, achy, sore, even weak with dagger-sharp pains in his scar, but never in complete agony like this. Something had changed. And not for the better.

He had no idea what he was going to do. When his uncle woke up…it would not by good. Or if Petunia decided to attack again…knowing his luck, that would probably happen first. Currently, she was standing there in shock, looking first at her limp husband, and then over at Harry, who was worried more about the vision he'd just had than anything else.

His arms and shoulders were shaking badly still, and his vision kept fading in and out. He knew he was too weak to fight off his aunt if she really tried to hurt him again. He had no idea what to do, and he had to just sit there, waiting for her to come. He didn't have to wait long.

"Vernon?" her voice came, sounding worried. Uh, oh, Harry thought. She was coming out of her shock. He was in for it now, never mind that he couldn't stop shaking and that he was pretty close to being sick. "Vernon, honey?" she said again, falling to her knees next to her husband.

And then suddenly she stood up, whirling to face Harry. "You!" she shouted, her voice a piercing wail. Harry head Dudley, one room over, stirring. He would be hiding, probably. Harry hadn't seen very much of him at all this summer…and from what he'd heard, the reason Dudley had lost so much weight was because he was hardly able to sit still long enough to shovel any food into his mouth.

Harry wanted to get up, to be able to defend himself from an attack, if that was what it was, but instead he smiled as a small brown owl zoomed into his room, hooting madly when it saw him. Petunia was looking indecisive now, worried about what the owl could mean but also wanting very much to hurt her nephew. Suddenly, she retreated from the room, and Harry turned his attention to the little brown owl.

The owl had a small parchment attached to its leg, and Harry took it with trembling fingers—and they weren't trembling from fear or excitement.

_'Harry,_

_We got the hint. We'll be there ASAP. Just have to figure out how in the name of Circe we're going to get you from the Dursleys to…you know where. If it's really bad, send a note back with the owl. We'll send someone to stick around until we can get you out safely. _

_ONLY IF IT'S REALLY BAD, HARRY. This is really dangerous to do, and we've had some very scary information come to light. If we don't hear from you, we'll assume that it's all right to leave you a few more days._

_Moony'_

Harry frowned, and then glanced up. His aunt was standing in the door. She had a golf club in her hands now.

This looked life-threatening to Harry. But he didn't have a quill, nor anything to write with.

So instead he wiped some of the blood in his mouth, from his half-bitten tongue, onto his fingers, and then smeared it on the back of the parchment into a single word.

HELP.

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A/N: That's the end of Chapter 3. I wanted to make it longer, like I said I was going to, but this one just ended here. I even read through it again, but everything happened that I wanted to have happen. So look for Chapter 4 to probably be a little longer. Thanks for reading, and PLEASE review. –Miss Laine


	4. Whisked Away

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor anything that JK Rowling has written or created. So don't sue me, please!

A/N: The last chapter didn't really end as a cliffie, did it? I didn't mean it to. It just ended there. Things start to look up just a little now that Harry's getting free of his slightly evil relatives. Please read on and then review. I'll only write more if I get enough reviews to convince me that my efforts are worth it at least a little.

00000000000000000 Chapter 4: Whisked Away 000000000000000000

Harry dodged the first swing of the club, and the second. His aunt was too upset to aim properly, and if he rolled on his bed he could avoid the blows. The third landed on his leg, up on his thigh, and left behind a searing pain. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Stop hitting me!" His voice was hoarse from screaming in his dreams, but loud now as he shouted at his aunt.

Petunia did stop, breathing heavily and holding the club up. "What did you do, freak?" she demanded. Harry glared at her.

"I didn't do anything!" he snapped. "You're the one that tried to kill me!"

"Finally, someone has the guts to try," she spat back. Harry blinked, taken aback. His relatives really did want him dead, he realized. Despite how he hated them and they hated him, he'd always figured that they'd never really want him dead. It hurt a little to know that his only living family wanted him dead. It was slightly disconcerting as well. He had never done anything to warrant their hate…except almost get Dudley killed, blow up Aunt Marge, have a nutter house-elf running around…a traitorous part of his brain told him.

"Well, I'm glad to know no one cares," he told her sarcastically. She raised the club again, but just then Vernon moaned. Petunia dropped the club, running to her husband.

And in that instant the member of the Order promised to Harry appeared.

"Well, well, well. What a wonderful predicament you've created, Potter," came the sour voice.

Harry groaned weakly. Snape. They'd sent him Snape. Perhaps his note had been intercepted…perhaps this had all been planned out by Voldemort…perhaps he was going to be dead in just a little bit… "Please tell me it was Riddle that sent you," he begged.

"Shut your stupid mouth, Potter," Snape told him. The lights suddenly flicked on, and Harry cringed away from the bright light, covering his slightly light-sensitive eyes. Probably an after-effect of the nightmare, he figured, along with everything else. "Albus has sent me to keep an eye on you until he can finish preparing your special little trip."

"Uhhnnn," he managed. He was too distraught now to want to say anything to the sour man watching him so hatefully. He really wished his aunt was back over him with the golf club. That would be better than this. Anything would be better than Snape. Anything at all.

"While you may have lost all memory of the English language, Potter, others have not," Snape told him. Harry fumbled around near his head and found his glasses. He slipped them on, managing not to drop them from his weak, shaking fingers, and looked around. He could now see that the man was standing in the doorway of the room, leaning against the frame with his wand on his fingertips.

Petunia was still kneeling by Vernon, a look of pure horror on her face. Finally, there seemed to be someone that could put a little fear into her, Harry thought grimly.

Vernon was awake now, but looked woozy and was holding a hand to the back of his head. There was a spot of blood on the wall from where he had connected. "Why you?" he finally croaked. Snape sneered.

"You may not care, Potter, but everyone's been scrambling to cater to your pathetic little wishes. Every plan and important mission was put on hold just so they could take care of your selfish needs. I was the only one that could not do anything to create the charms for your moving. It would be too suspicious," Snape explained in a superior tone. Harry blinked a few times, sighing.

"I didn't realized everyone was that busy," he admitted. "But—er," he ended. He did not want to say anything in front of Snape.

"What happened here?" the greasy Potions Master asked. Harry blinked, ready to answer, but then Petunia was on her feet, finger pointed accusingly at Harry.

"Him!" she screeched. "That brat has done nothing but torture us this summer with his glares and talking back and rude behavior! After all we've done for him!" She stalked a few steps closer to him, narrowing her eyes angrily. "Acting as if we all owe him something, even after he almost got Dudley killed!"

"Aunt Petunia made m—" Harry started to say angrily, but Petunia cut him off.

"That's Mrs. Dursley to you, boy!" she snapped. Harry sighed.

"Fine. Mrs. Dursley," he added in a sarcastic tone. "_You_ decided you'd get my defensive magic to react, and it bloody well did. He hit the wall when she was knocked back into him, I think, and was knocked out. That little owl showed up and I sent off my note. And then Auntie here started in on me again!"

He was angry now, temper flaring. "You ungrateful brat!" his aunt screamed. She was coming closer now, and he knew soon she'd strike him. She was at that point.

But he didn't care anymore. "I'm not bloody ungrateful, you old bat!" he shouted back. He could see Snape watching now, eyebrow raised and a sneer on his face. "I'm bloody grateful that someday soon I'll never have to see your stupid horse-face ever again!"

CRACK!

The fast backhand hit him hard. It was her left, and her wedding ring slashed across his cheek, leaving behind a bloody red trail from the top of his cheekbone almost down to the corner of his mouth. "Brat!" she shouted.

"Bitch!" he shouted back. He'd never said that before, but he was too angry to stop himself now. His aunt had pushed him to the limit. "All you ever do—" he started to shout, but then suddenly his words dissolved out from under him, like the world was crumbling away beneath him.

Pain, agonizing pain was burning through his body. He'd never felt this…and then he realized with a pang of terrible fear that he had…and very recently, as well. It was Voldemort. Voldemort was trying to possess him. He'd gotten too angry, too hateful of his aunt, and now he was vulnerable.

He convulsed on the bed, barely registering his aunt's scream as she stumbled back. He thought he saw Snape approaching. "Voldemort!" he managed to croak out. Snape couldn't be here. He couldn't be found out. He would be if he stayed here.

Snape didn't seem to get it. He was standing there now, arms folded and smiling down at him. It was a cold, sour smile. It was calculating and sarcastic and superior all in one.

Harry convulsed again, his back bending into a sharp curve as he lifted partially off the bed, hands clasping at the sheets wildly. He tried to focus on repelling Voldemort. He tried thinking of happy memories…but it wasn't working. There was too much pain, too much agony coursing through his body…

And then he saw something out the window that made his heart a little warmer. Hedwig was fluttering just outside, golden eyes on her master. Somehow, she had known he was in trouble.

He focused on her white form as he convulsed again, this time whipping back the other way, as if a giant snake were squeezing him and contorting him. The pain was numbing him, numbing his mind. He had to get free of this now, or he would lose control.

He watched Hedwig flutter. His friends probably were worried now, wondering what had happened to Hedwig.

His friends.

He clung onto the memories he had of them like a drowning man, struggling against the convulsions and pain as he tried to regain control of his head and body. Ron. Hermione. Last year…they had stood by him, all through to the end…and then he suddenly remembered that last day, in the station. When they had all stood up for him against the Dursleys as best they could…except there had been no Sirius.

With a heart-wrenching pang, he felt the coils around his body loosening. He clung to the thought of Sirius now, clutching at it while the pain began to recede. He could feel Voldemort's anger now, burning through his mind. Tom had been so close to achieving his goal. So close to forcing his consciousness into Harry's body.

Sirius, he thought. I miss you so much, Sirius. I wish you could help me. Sirius…

There was something warm dripping down his face, and his left eye lost sight as red liquid pooled inside it. He was too weak to even blink it away.

One last burning agony through his body…and everything went red.

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He woke up with something cold on his forehead. He could see again, his glasses still on his face. There was no more red clouding his vision.

"You idiotic brat." Snape. He groaned. He was still with Snape. "You could have been taken, and yet you still let yourself get angry. How stupid do you have to be?"

"Nnnnhh," he groaned. His mouth was paper-dry, his throat sticky. He felt terrible. His back ached, his arms ached, his legs ached, his neck, his head, his scar, everything.

"Still can't speak a word of English to me," Snape growled. "Foolish boy. First you want out because your aunt and uncle don't like you, and then you almost let the Dark Lord possess you!"

"Tom," Harry rasped out.

"What." Snape's voice was flat, as if he couldn't care a less as to what Harry meant.

"Name," Harry gasped. "His name. Tom, Tom Riddle. Not Dark Lord," he tried to explain. Snape sneered at him.

"As you wish, Potter," Snape said. "I suppose anything must be done to appease the little Golden Boy," he added nastily. Harry turned his head a little away, blushing slightly. He hated that title most of all. It was so stupid. "Don't move your head, Potter," Snape said sharply. Harry moved his head back.

"Why?" he managed. Snape frowned at him angrily, certainly meaning he'd rather be anywhere than where he was at that moment.

"Your scar seems to have started bleeding, and it is taking its time stopping. You've lost some blood," he said. "Which would not have happened if you had not lost control of your temper."

"Well, excuse me," Harry growled. "How much longer are they going to be?" he asked. He didn't care anymore if Snape thought he was being spoilt. He just need to get out of here. Now.

"Perhaps another hour," Snape said. "If our little hero can wait that long, that is," he added. Harry figured the man couldn't do more than one or two sentences towards him without making sure that the next was some sort of insult.

"Good," Harry said flatly. "What happened to Petunia and Vernon?" he asked.__

"Your relatives are currently in their room. Cowering, I suppose. What exactly did you do to them?" Snape asked accusingly. Harry glared at the man as best he could.

"I didn't do a bloody damn thing! If she hadn't tried—well, then he wouldn't have gotten knocked into the wall!" he protested.

"Calm down, Potter, unless you wish to have a repeat episode?" Snape commented.

Harry swallowed his anger and continued. "Fine, Snape," he snapped.

"Professor Snape, Potter," Snape growled warningly. Harry glared some more.

"Professor, then. Vernon hit the wall and got knocked out when Petunia was knocked back into him because she made my magic react. The owl arrived, etcetera, etcetera…" he finished sardonically.

"Don't take that tone with me, Potter," Snape said icily. "What did your aunt do to make your magic react?"

Harry did not want to answer that. He'd tell Dumbledore, Lupin, anyone else. Not Snape. "She got too close to me. I—I was angry. She got too close," he repeated.

"Come now, Potter, you expect me to—" Snape began, when there was a bang sound. Suddenly, there were four new people in the room.

"Remus!" Harry said with relief, recognizing the sandy hair. The man smiled. With him was Bill Weasley, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Professor McGonagall.

"You all right there, Harry?" Bill asked. Harry nodded.

"I'll be fine," he said.

"He let himself get upset and the Dark Lord tried to take him again," Snape commented. Harry glared at him.

"I wouldn't have gotten upset if Petunia—" he started. For what seemed like the millionth time, he was interrupted by someone else.

"We have to get going, Mr. Potter," Shacklebolt said. He kept looking around nervously, as if expecting someone to jump out at any moment.

"Do you have your belongings together?" McGonagall asked.

"No, Professor," he admitted. "I—there's some stuff under the floorboard," he told her, pointing it out from where he lay. He wasn't totally sure he could stand up yet. "I'm not sure where the rest of my stuff is," he added. "Vernon took it."

"I'll look," McGonagall offered. She was gone in an instant, while Bill pried up the board and got out the photo album, cloak, and glass lily.

"You're looking ill, Harry," Remus said concernedly. "You've gotten thinner since I last saw you."

"Er—I haven't been eating well," he said. He did not feel comfortable saying more with Snape's black eyes on him like they were. "I'll gain it back."

"You'd better," Bill said as he straightened up, holding the three items in his arms. "Or mum will be after you."

"Harry, why is your window bolted shut?" Remus asked. His voice was meant to sound curious, Harry thought, but instead he sounded a little overly concerned.

"Vernon did that," he said. "Didn't want owls getting in."

McGonagall came back before Remus could respond. "I couldn't find anything," she admitted. "And we can't wait any longer."

Harry frowned, worried about his belongings. "They should be under the—" he started, but Remus cut him off hurriedly.

"We'll come back later, if it's still safe," Remus decided. "Come on, Harry. We're using a special portkey to get out of here."

Harry didn't want to admit how weak he was, so he bit his tongue hard while he pushed himself up. He thought perhaps he'd pass out from the pain and dizziness that enveloped him, but he made it to his feet and tottered over to the others.

He hadn't used a portkey since the end of fourth year. He definitely didn't want to use one again. But he didn't have much choice.

Remus saw his hesitation, though. "Trust me, Harry, it'll be fine," he promised. Harry nodded and touched the portkey as the others did.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

'Wands out, you reckon?'

'Yeah.'

'Kill the spare….'

'Avada Kedavra!'

'Cedric!'

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

He hadn't remembered that so vividly in a while, he thought groggily. He was on the floor, shivering. He didn't remember much of the trip by portkey, but he remembered touching down in the dark. That had been too much…too much like that night.

He thought perhaps he'd gotten past that. The first death. No, the third death…his parents had been the first and second. Sirius…the fourth…well, perhaps more like the tenth or so. Others had died at Voldemort's request as well…so many others…

But Cedric had been the worst, that curse, the body, the shadow that had spoken to him. It was too much that night, and it was still too much. No one had thought it odd that he didn't seem to have any trouble getting over Cedric's death. That it didn't bother him.

But it did. And small things, little things, brought it back. This had been the worst.

He would never, ever use a portkey again. Never, not even if his life depended on it.

Some time had passed, he realized. The room was dimly lit now, though he was still on the floor. It was quiet as well, as if he were alone.

He rolled over on his side as he heard the words in his mind again, and the next second he threw up, vomiting up little more than stomach acid and blood onto the wooden floor. "Harry?"

It was Remus's voice. "Uhh," he groaned.

"Harry, I didn't want to move you until I knew you were uninjured. You were moaning and shivering, Harry. The others left so you could have a little privacy. They understand."

"Uhh," he groaned again. His mouth burned from the acid, and he dry-heaved a few times, ribs aching at the sharp contractions.

He felt hands on him now, helping to pull him up into a sitting position. "Scourgify," Remus murmured, and the mess was gone off the floor and his face and hands. "Shh, Harry," Remus said.

Harry snuffled, trying to keep back tears. He was almost sixteen, dammit, he told himself. Sixteen year old boys…men…don't cry. But too much had happened in too short of a time. He felt so weak, so beaten down…he didn't want to go anywhere, to do anything, until the ache and the weakness went away. "Merlin, Harry, you're nothing but bones!" Remus exclaimed, as Harry felt his fingers along his shoulders and side.

"Not…much…to eat," he got out. His mouth was dry and burning. "Water," he asked.

There was a swish sound, and then a cool glass was pressed against his lips. He drank the cold water slowly, working at clearing his mouth of blood and acid and phlegm. He almost finished the glass before his stomach started to protest, its shrunken size only able to hold so much liquid. "Is that enough, Harry?" Remus asked. Harry nodded.

"Better," he said more clearly, forcing the tears away. "Much better. I'm sorry I panicked like that," he added.

"I understand, Harry. Considering what happened with the last portkey you used…"

"Every little thing," Harry said softly. "Portkeys, Hufflepuffs, tournaments, dragons, everything reminds me…it hasn't gone away…"

"It won't, Harry," Remus said. "It doesn't."

"Sirius…" Harry sobbed. He felt stupid and weak. Almost sixteen, and he was lying on a wooden floor in the arms of his dead father's last living friend. Crying and carrying on like a ten year old. Except Harry had never cried as a child. Never. Certainly not as a ten year old, nor really until he'd been in his third year at Hogwarts.

He felt the arms tighten around him. "It's going to be all right, Harry," Remus said reassuringly. "I miss him too."

"I…I don't want to lose anyone else," he said, the words garbled by the knot in his throat and the tears rolling down the back of his throat. "I lose everyone…"

"I'm not going anywhere, Harry," Remus said softly. "I'll stay right here with you as long as you need me to."

Harry clung to those words just as tightly as he clung to Remus, lying on the wooden floor and weeping himself dry. He'd never cried like this, not since he was just a few years old, wondering why everyone despised him so much. Not even at the beginning of the summer…he had cried a little, but he had not been so beaten down, so weak and tired and aching.

Everything had not seemed so terribly set against him. So hopeless.

He wept harder, shaking with the sobs as they tore out of his throat, one by one.

And Remus held onto him tightly, hugging him against his chest and whispering soothing words into his hair.

00000000000000000000

A/N: End of Chapter four!!! Wow! I'm on a roll right now, I've got…up to chapter seven or eight all planned out, and I wrote two chapters tonight. I think the average length is going to be about ten pages, but I'll work on that. I want to have consistent-length chapters, and I'm one of those people that prefers long chapters to short. Thanks for reading and please please please review! --Miss Laine


	5. Grimmauld Place

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own any of JK Rowling's creations.

A/N: Chapter four ended on Harry's overall low note I think. I wanted him to kind of get a chance to bond with Remus, since Remus really is his last positive link to his parents. From now on, Harry will start getting back on his feet, though of course it won't be easy. Well, I may be lying about that. He still has a ways to go, but at least he's got a fighting chance. Please keep reading and reviewing!

000000000000000000 Chapter 5: Grimmauld Place 000000000000000

Harry woke up very quickly, drawing in a gasping breath and sitting up sharply. His back ached, as did just about all of the rest of his body, and his vision was blurry.

Oh wait…he wasn't wearing his glasses…

Sheepishly, he fumbled around on the small table next to the bed he was in until he felt the familiar shape in his hand. He unfolded them carefully and slipped them onto his face, taking a rather longer amount of time than usual to get them perched on his nose. Then, he looked around himself, trying to figure out just where he was.

He was in a room, he concluded, then berated himself for his stupidity. Of course he would be in a room. Where did he expect to be? A dungeon?

So he looked around again. The bed he was in was a large four-poster, with a thick burgundy and gold duvet and lots of pillows piled around him. The walls were fairly empty, with only a few paintings of grassy fields and forests on the walls. There was one window, with the curtains closed, and there were a few candles on the dresser along the far wall.

His wand was lying on the small table where his glasses had been, and he picked it up with fumbling fingers and slipped it into the waistband of his pants. He always felt a little uneasy if it wasn't directly on his person somewhere or in his hand.

He was starting to wonder just what room this was when the door creaked open. "You're awake," Remus commented, head poking in the door. Harry smiled weakly.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Woke up a few minutes ago."

"Did you get any rest?" Remus asked, coming all the way in. He was wearing a rather shabby dressing gown and slippers.

"Some," Harry agreed. "What time is it? Where is everyone?" he asked. Remus laughed and came over to the bed. He motioned to the foot of it.

"May I?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"Sure," he said.

Remus sat down and leaned against the post behind him. "It's a little after four in the morning, I'd wager," he explained. "Everyone else is sleeping."

"How long has it been since you guys came for me?" Harry asked.

"A little over a day or so, I guess," Remus said. "You passed out on the floor a little bit after we portkeyed, and I brought you up here. You didn't wake up at all until this evening, when Madame Pomfrey—"

"She was here?" Harry asked, surprised. Remus nodded.

"She came by when she heard what happened. She gave you a few potions and then said you were coming out of it. So, I've been staying up, keeping an eye on you," Remus finished. Harry frowned.

"You didn't need to stay up to watch me, Remus. I would've been fine," he pointed out. Remus smiled sadly.

"I didn't want you to wake up alone," he admitted. Harry blushed a little, feeling stupid and childish.

"It wouldn't have bothered me. I always wake up alone," he assured Remus. To his surprise the man frowned.

"I know…" he murmured. Harry felt a little uneasy, and then he suddenly realized whose room this had once been.

"This was Sirius's room, wasn't it?" he blurted out. Remus glanced at him with sad golden eyes, and then nodded.

"It's your room now," he said softly. Harry shook his head.

"No way. He was your best friend, Remus. Even if he was my godfather, this is yours," he said stubbornly. Remus shook his head this time.

"Actually, according to the will, you're owner of the house now. He wanted you to have a home, even if he wouldn't be there in it," Remus explained.

"His will?" Harry echoed. The idea had not crossed his mind. Remus sighed.

"This really should be explained later, by Albus, but he's not here…he said he'll try…er…" Remus trailed off. Harry could tell he was hiding something, but didn't have a chance to ask about it. "Anyway, although Sirius isn't legally dead, since if he were all of his possessions would go to the ministry…him still being a convicted criminal and all…well, we've gotten a peek into his will in order to figure out what to do with everything for now. The Black family was obscenely wealthy—like the Malfoys are—and Sirius avoided using the money at all costs. So it's built up a lot."

"He left it to you, right?" Harry asked. Remus didn't have much more than a few knuts to his name, Harry knew. Because no one would hire a werewolf.

"Actually," Remus countered, "he split it into thirds—well, fourths, sort of." Remus smiled a moment. "Just about a third of his money goes to the Order, another third and all of his other assets went to me, and the last third goes to you, Harry."

"What about the last bit you were talking about?" Harry asked. Who else had Sirius left money to, he wondered?

Remus smiled and laughed a moment. "He left a single knut to someone," he explained. Harry was perplexed now.

"Who would he leave a knut to?" he asked. Remus laughed again.

"One guess, Harry," he said. "Better make it good."

"Uh—Kreacher?" he guessed. Remus laughed harder and Harry started to get a little worried.

"No, no," Remus said, swallowing his laughter for a moment. "Someone a little bigger, Harry," he hinted. Harry's eyes went wide. No way…but only Sirius would do it.

"He didn't!" he exclaimed. Remus laughed again.

"He did. He left Snape a knut. And a certain knut at that…it was the one his pet toad ate…" Remus explained. Harry couldn't help but grin. Sirius would remember to do something like that, even in a will…leave his enemy a toad-digested knut. It was great.

"I hope Snape appreciates it," Harry said, still smiling. Remus grinned.

"He gets it in a few days, by owl. I made sure to soak it in bat livers for a few days, as well," Remus explained. Harry was amazed. Usually Remus was so good about being polite and courteous, even to Snape. Perhaps Sirius's death had made Remus a little less cautious. A little less forgiving.

"I'm sure he'll keep it forever," Harry commented. Remus smiled, looking satisfied about that whole event. Then he eyed Harry.

"Your birthday's in four days now, Harry," he commented. Harry shifted.

"I figured getting out of the Dursleys was birthday enough," he said. Remus shook his head.

"No, no, we're going to have a party," he argued. "It's too risky to invite anyone over here, but there will be a few of us around…and there are a few things we'll have to discuss."

"Like what?" Harry asked, curious. Remus sighed.

"Sixteen isn't the most important birthday in the wizarding world, but a few things do change when you turn sixteen. First of all, you can start working towards your apparating license, now that they've changed the age of when you can get it, and also you are no longer a minor in a few ways. It's rather complicated, but in the end it works out so that you get a little bit more freedom than before," Remus said. "You'll see. There's a lot we have to discuss come July 31st."

"How do I get my apparating license?" Harry asked, excited. Finally, he could learn something really useful.

"Well, you have to learn from a trained auror, which won't be any problem for you, since there's usually three or four running around this place. Then you have to go before the apparation committee and demonstrate that you know how to apparate properly. There's a small written portion and a rather long practical. Just popping in and out of various places, and proper procedure for not getting spotted by muggles," Remus explained.

"How long does it take to learn to apparate?" Harry questioned.

Remus thought about it a moment. "Well, I'd say it took me about four months to get it down enough to pass the test. About a year before I could do it without any problems at all." At Harry's slightly appalled expression, he smiled. "Some people only take a few weeks before they're ready to test," he went on. "I took longer because I couldn't work on it very much—the full moon interrupted, and learning to apparate takes a lot of energy. You might be a little encouraged to know that your father learned it in about three weeks and aced the test the first time through."

Harry did feel slightly relieved. Hopefully, this would be something he'd be good at. And it would be incredibly useful in the future…which reminded him of something else… "Hey, Remus?" he asked.

"Hmm?" Remus said. He looked a little drowsy, but willing to answer any questions, so Harry went on.

"Do you think you could teach me to be an animagus?" he asked. Remus sat up a little.

"What? Why?" he asked. Harry blinked.

"Well—er—my dad was one, and so was Sirius…and I just thought it might be useful," he floundered. He was trying to come up with good solid reasons—but the real reason he wanted to be one just had to do with wanting to do something Sirius and his dad had done. Just to feel a little less separated from them.

Remus leaned back again. "I'd have to check with Dumbledore first," he said. "But then I'd be more than willing to help. I suppose McGonagall could help as well…she's very good with her cat form…"

"Wow, Remus, thanks!" Harry said, even more excited. Perhaps he could put his summer to good use…

He looked up to see Remus frowning at him. "What?" he said uneasily.

"You're not going to be doing anything strenuous like that until you've put on some weight, Harry!" Remus said sternly. Harry rolled his eyes, but Remus didn't relent. "You're severely underweight, Harry, and if I thought just for a minute that it would help, I'd get after your relatives. I can't believe they'd do that to you!"

"I kind of kept arguing with Petunia after you left that day," Harry said, feeling a little stupid. "She smacked me again and I shouted at her a lot and then she dragged me in the house and told me to stay up in my room," he explained. "Vernon came up later and yelled at me, and I yelled back…and then he hit me and when I woke up—"

"Woke up!?" Remus exclaimed. Harry blushed, looking away.

"Er—I hit the edge of my desk," he explained. "And he never did it again. I think he was scared of his own actions." Remus looked ready to kill something named Dursley. "Look—it's never been this bad before, Remus. I think things just came to a boiling point and they couldn't take it anymore. I could've kept my mouth shout as well, but I didn't. I shouted back at him and got him really angry. So they locked me in and, well, I don't think Petunia remembered to slip food to me very often."

"That's child abuse," Remus said. "Neglect, abuse, assault," he grumbled. "I'm going to have a little talk with Dumbledore about this."

"Well, as long as I don't have to even see them again until next summer I'm good," Harry said placatingly. "And I promise I'll eat as much as I can. I'll even make Mrs. Weasley proud."

Remus smiled, partially appeased. "Fine," he said. "You gain enough weight so that you don't look like a starved prisoner, and I'll help you become and animagus, and I'll find someone around here to help you learn to apparate. Deal?"

"Deal," Harry said, smiling. Remus nodded.

"Good," he said, then suddenly yawned. "Now, go back to sleep, Harry. I'm going to go catch a little sleep, and I'll see you down at breakfast, all right?"

Harry grinned. "Sure," he said. "You look exhausted, Remus. Sleep some. I'll be fine," he assured the man. Remus nodded and got up from the end of the bed, looking a little stiff.

"Good night, Harry," Remus said.

"Goodnight, Remus," Harry said in return. He watched the weary man go out the door, and then sighed. He wasn't tired anymore, and besides, in just a few hours there would be breakfast. He was feeling fairly hungry now that he thought about it.

But there wouldn't be anything to eat for a few hours, and besides that he felt too weak to even think about walking down any stairs. He did feel up to standing and perhaps tottering a few steps…

If he remembered right, there was a bathroom off of this room, with a huge bathtub. He could deal with that. Getting his hair clean again would be wonderful. He looked around the room a bit and spotted the door over to the right, half-hidden by a wall hanging. He only had to make it that far, he told himself.

He pushed himself over to that side of the bed and slowly pulled his legs out from under the covers. What he saw made him grimace.

His legs were thin and weak looking, and because of the way the boxers he was wearing rode up a little, he could see the deep purple bruise from his aunt hitting him. That also made him wonder how in the bloody hell he'd ended up in his boxers and a different t-shirt, when he most clearly did not remember traveling to Grimmauld Place that way.

Probably Remus had stripped him down, unwilling to let him sleep in the bed wearing disgusting rags. He had to be at least a little grateful for that.

He sighed, hoping Remus hadn't seen the bruise on his thigh, and then slowly pushed himself to a standing position. The abuse, starvation, nightmare-curses, and near-possession had all piled up on him, and he felt sort of like he'd been run over by a huge truck.

His knees were weak and wobbly, and he almost fell against the door as he opened it, stepping into the bathroom very slowly. He was breathing hard now from even this much exertion, and he stumbled his way over to the somehow already-waiting deep tub of warm water.

There were fresh gold colored towels folded and waiting for him, and a bar of perfectly white soap rested in a small depression along the pool-like tub's side. There was a washrag, two very ornate looking glass bottles with hair soap, and also a long-handled scrub brush. Perfect, he thought with a grin. He could get really clean now.

"All I need is a big mug of tea and some toast," he said out loud.

There was a crack, and suddenly Kreacher was there, holding a mug of tea and a plate with toast. Harry laughed. "Wow, talk about service," he commented.

The house elf kind of scuttled towards him, getting close enough that Harry could hear him speaking. "Kreacher bring tea to master," the elf muttered. "Kreacher bring toast…dragged through the dust it was…poisoned the tea…must kill evil new master…"

Harry listened with growing incredulity and anger, his smile slipping off his face, as the house elf continued its mad ramblings, meanwhile presenting him with the stone-cold tea and rather dirty looking toast. This was the house-elf that had lied and helped get Sirius killed. This was the insane and evil creature that had caused him so much—he stopped himself.

It was just a rather nutters house-elf. It couldn't possibly be held responsible for its lies. Sirius's death was Harry's fault. Not some senile house-elf's. "Erm—thanks, Kreacher," he said worriedly, slightly afraid that the thing would attack him. "Uh—"

Kreacher looked up, a particularly evil expression in his face as he pulled the toast and tea back towards his body. "I will not serve evil young master!" he snarled. "You will come to a terrible end, Master Potter! Just like Master Sirius!"

Harry felt himself getting angry again. He did not want to listen to this creature insult Sirius. "Get out, Kreacher. Please!" he shouted. The house-elf blinked and then disappeared with a crack, leaving Harry feeling angry and confused. And with the start of a new headache coming on. He'd have to ask Remus if they could please get rid of the elf. It was disturbing and dangerous to have around.

Besides, he didn't want to be poisoned right inside the Order's headquarters. That would be just too embarrassing.

He waited a bit, to be sure that he was alone, and then stripped out of his ratty boxers and t-shirt. His wand, which had been snugly tucked into the waistband of his boxers, he placed on the ground next to the clean towels. He wanted it to be close at all times.

As he walked around to the towels, he saw a short glance of himself in the mirror, and cringed at how skinny and dirty he looked. Most of the dark on his body was dirt, thankfully, but the ugly purplish patch on his left thigh was definitely not dirt.

His ribs stuck out badly, his backbone showed, and his stomach was noticeable caved in. He was starved. Definitely. He resolved to gain enough weight for it not to be obvious by the time he next saw Mrs. Weasley. He didn't want to be subjected to her feeding requirements. She would stuff him until he burst.

He slipped into the charmed-to-stay-warm water, feeling his muscles immediately relax under the warmth and release from most of gravity. He floated gently for a bit, just relaxing in the warm and soothing water, and then slowly paddled his way over to the soap.

It smelled good, sort of like…hmm…he sniffed it again…it was like Quidditch, he decided. It smelled like his broom's wood, a bit like rain, and a bit like clean fabric. Kind of nice smell, and much better than something flowery. He'd rather just use water than come out smelling like lavender or roses. Ew.

He rubbed the soap all over, rubbing the dirt off his hands and feet especially, and carefully washed where he was bruised on his ribs and thigh. His hair took three washes with similar-smelling hair soap before it came clean. It was slightly longer than he remembered, with a very slight wave. It lay flat on his head now, because it was wet, but he knew as soon as it dried it would be a mess once more.

After he was fairly sure he was as clean as he was going to get, he swam around a few more laps, feeling his leg and arm muscles loosen up even more at the light exercise. He'd spent too many days doing nothing and too many nights under painful curses or in the throes of convulsions. His body needed a little rest.

He sighed, treading water in the middle of the tub and pondering whether he wanted to get out of the perfect-temperature water.

"Wotcher, Harry!" Tonks suddenly called. Harry slipped under the water in surprise, and came up a moment later coughing and spluttering, while the young auror laughed loudly.

"TONKS!" he shouted. "What are you doing in here?" he cried out. He knew by now that his face was burning with embarrassment.

"Don't worry there," she said, still laughing. "I can't see nothing!" she assured him. Harry turned in the water so that he faced her.

"What are you doing in here?" he demanded again. "I was taking a nice bath until you came in and almost drowned me!"

Tonks laughed again. "Just thought I'd tell you breakfast's on!" she said cheerily. "Oh—and you missed a spot, Harry. There's a bit of dirt on your chin," she told him. Harry went to rub it, blushing furiously.

"I'll be out in a bit," he said. "After you leave!" He was still embarrassed and uncomfortable with the rather young auror standing at the edge of the tub that he was very starkers in.

She laughed again and turned to go. "Just be warned," she called back as she left. "If you aren't out and downstairs eating in ten minutes, Remus's said I can come up here and drag you out of the tub!"

"Go away!" he shouted.

The door closed, the auror's laughter still echoing. He hadn't realized he'd been in the tub for so long. Although he was all wrinkled up now…

Sighing, he doggy-paddled over to the edge of the tub and then looked around again. Just to be sure that Tonks really had left. He then quickly pulled himself out of the water, dripping all over the place as he hurried over to the towels and wrapped one of the huge, fluffy, and perfectly warmed towels around his waist. He used the other to rub his hair mostly dry, and then suddenly wondered just what he was going to get dressed in. There was no way he was going to wear his old nasty clothes, and he wasn't allowed to do magic so he couldn't exactly clean them.

"Should have thought of that earlier, Potter," he told himself. Either he could go through Sirius's dresser and see if there were any clothes in there that might pass for wearable, or he could go down to the kitchen in a towel and ask…but there was no way he was going down there. Not as skinny and bruised as he was. He did not want anyone that he could possibly help seeing him like this.

He went back into the bedroom and pulled open the top drawer of Sirius's dresser.

What he saw made a huge lump form in his throat.

There was a rather large photograph of his parents on top of the socks. There was a tiny baby in his mother's arms…it was him, he realized. A thin man in the picture had to be Remus, and Sirius stood smiling and waving, handsome and young, on the right edge of the picture. Even as he watched, Harry saw the photograph Sirius lean forward over his mother's shoulder and tease the little baby Harry.

He could feel tears on his face now, but he couldn't take his eyes from the picture. He was too caught up in thinking about what could have been…what could have been if his parents had lived…if Sirius were still alive. If Voldemort had not screwed up his entire life.

It always came to that. Voldemort started it. And Wormtail. They did it all. They destroyed everything, took everything from him. Left him a starved and weak teenager with no family and few trustworthy friends. It was so completely unfair.

"Damn him," he said out loud. "Damn him anyway."

"Who?" It was Remus. Harry had been standing there too long…

"Riddle. Tom…he does it all. He took everything!" Harry said angrily. Remus seemed to understand, and Harry heard him moving, coming closer.

"There isn't anything we can do about the past," the man said softly. "You just have to keep going. When Tom's stopped, then no one else will have to say that he took away everything from them."

"Except for me," Harry said. "Except for you, and everyone now. I never got a family because of him."

"That's something we have to talk about, Harry," Remus said. Harry whirled around.

"What?" he said, confused. Remus smiled.

"I wasn't supposed to say anything until your birthday, but…Sirius designated me your guardian in case of his death. Of course, I can't legally take that position because I am a werewolf, but Albus has agreed to become your official guardian in my stead," Remus explained. He looked nervous. "That is, if you want to, Harry," he added quickly.

Harry gaped. "B—but," he said. "H—I—We—Uh—" he floundered, totally overwhelmed. "Yes, I—you'd live here, right? With me, right?" he asked quickly. Remus nodded, looking relieved.

"I know I'm not Sirius, but I do like to think that we know each other well enough to live together. I was your father's friend, too, and we all promised each other we'd take care of the other's families. I've done a terrible job of—"

"No, no," Harry said quickly. "Don't you even think of blaming yourself for anything, Remus! I—I'd like to have a guardian, I really would…I—the Dursleys didn't like me much. It'd be nice to have someone that actually cared about me in charge of me…" he tried to explain. Remus frowned.

"I'd say they didn't like you," he said angrily. Harry blinked, unable to move as Remus touched a rather prominent bruise on his shoulder. "Albus has said we'll go back to get your stuff a few days after your birthday," he said. "We'll talk with the Dursleys then," he added, a dark note in his voice. Harry hoped that the Dursleys didn't behave, so Remus would have more reason to scare them. They'd deserve it.

"I don't have any clothes," Harry said, changing the subject. "That's why I didn't come down."

"Oh—uh, I'll shrink some of Sirius's stuff, if that's all right with you," Remus decided. Harry nodded, taking a pair of socks from the drawer without looking at the photograph again. He moved over to the bed, walking slowly on his weak legs, and sat down to pull the socks on.

He watched Remus paw through the drawers, pulling out some clothes and shrinking them to fit with a flick of his wand. "I'll be outside the door, Harry, so I can help you down to breakfast," the man said, before heading out the door and closing it softly behind him.

Harry stood up and slowly got dressed, happy to have clean and untattered clothes to wear. And they fit. That was probably the best part of them. It made him a little uneasy to know that he was wearing Sirius's old clothing, clothing that he would never wear again, but it also made him feel a little closer to his dead godfather. The fabric had the same smell as the soap he'd used, and he realized that Sirius probably had used that same scent of soap his whole life. He was glad he liked it as well.

When he was ready, his feet stuffed back into his shoes, he opened the door again. "Okay," he said. "I'm ready to head downstairs."

Remus looked up and smiled. "You look a lot better than you did yesterday," he commented. Harry smiled.

"I'd hope so. I hadn't had a good bath in eight days," he said. It was the wrong thing to say, as it made Remus scowl angrily. Harry sighed. "Look, I'm fine now," he said. "You guys came and got me…although I'd say sending Snape was about the worst idea anyone could have," he added, hoping to lighten the mood.

It worked, somewhat. Remus at least quit scowling. "Come on, you'd better start eating," Remus said.

"Kreacher came by earlier when I asked for tea and toast," Harry tried again to lighten the mood. "He muttered something about poisoning the stone-cold tea and dragging the toast through some dust, and then wouldn't even hand it over. Just kept it and disappeared."

Remus laughed, and Harry felt relieved. He didn't want Remus fuming the rest of the day because of his stupid relatives. "That's Kreacher," he said.

"Can we get rid of him?" he asked hopefully. "He's really creepy, and I don't want him around insulting Sirius."

Remus sighed, then put a hand on Harry's arm to steady him as they went down the stairs. "Dumbledore's trying to find a way to get rid of him…but it's looking more and more like we'll have to just give him clothes and let him kill himself. Or attack us or whatever. He's too dangerous to keep here much longer, so something has to be done. Especially with you here. We weren't sure he'd even let you be the new master…we were worried he'd try to kill you or something."

"Well he did poison the tea, I think," Harry pointed out. Remus sighed.

"I'd advise not eating anything he gives you, or anything at all that you haven't got the cook's assurances about. Tonks and Kingsley cook most everything here. So check with them before you eat anything you don't seen anyone else eating," Remus said. Harry nodded.

They came into the kitchen then, and Harry saw that Tonks, Bill Weasley, Kinsley Shacklebolt, and Hestia Jones were all sitting at a table, eating their way through eggs, sausage, hash browns, and bowls of oatmeal. "Hullo, Harry," Bill said with a nervous grin. "Er—you feeling better now?" he asked. Harry reddened a little. The last time they'd seen him, he was curled up on the floor and shaking like a leaf. Not exactly the hero of the wizarding world then.

"Fine," he said. "I was really tired, and I guess the portkey trip just pushed me too far," he explained. He did not want to tell them what he heard when he landed in the dark, feet slamming to the ground just like then…just like the very few moments before Cedric had been murdered in front of him.

He sat down at the table in order to distract himself with the food in front of him. It was hot and smelled wonderful, and he started to eat quickly. His stomach was begging for food.

He heard the others start to eat again, and glanced up once to see that Remus was eating now and reading the Daily Prophet. All too soon, his stomach started to protest against the good food, and he had to stop. He looked down and realized he'd barely eaten anything. A piece of toast, probably five forkfuls of eggs, two links of sausage, and only a third of the potatoes in front of him. He'd have to stretch his stomach out again before he could eat normally.

He looked up as he set his fork down, and saw that Shacklebolt, Hestia, and Bill had all finished and were now watching him. Tonks was busy flicking a piece of egg at Remus and giggling, while Remus was pretending he didn't notice and finishing up the newspaper. "Er—" Harry said, uncomfortable with all the attention. "So, uh," he tried.

"Well, we're not exactly allowed to go anywhere until the beginning of August or so, when we get to pay your relatives a nice little visit," Bill said slowly. "Until then, it's pretty much sit tight and wait for news. Kinsley, Hestia, and I have to head out for the next three or four days, but Remus and Tonks will be here."

"Okay," Harry said. "I can just use some of the books in the library to do my homework," he added.

"Didn't you already have it finished?" Remus spoke up. Harry turned towards him

"I didn't want to do it all until I got my OWL results," he admitted. Remus frowned.

"You didn't receive them?" he asked.

"That's all right, Remus," Kinsley spoke up. "Albus mentioned something about holding them until he could hand deliver them. Don't want them intercepted." Remus stopped frowning.

"I didn't hear about that," he commented.

"Albus just mentioned it in passing. I don't think he thought it a very important issue, considering," Kinsley said. Remus nodded.

"Well, I guess you'll get them—" he began.

"Eventually," Hestia cut in, glaring at Remus for a moment. Harry wondered what they were all covering up, but didn't ask. He didn't want to receive the full runaround.

"I'm going to go look for some books, okay?" he said. "I'll be upstairs in bed reading, I figure," he told them. He didn't wait for their response before slowly and laboriously pushing himself up from the chair. He was feeling stiff again, but the food made him feel stronger. He wasn't dizzy and faint, which was a huge improvement.

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He heard a soft knock on the door and looked up. "Come in," he said quickly. He folded closed the book he'd been reading through and set it aside.

Remus came in the door. "Thought I'd bring you some lunch," the man explained, gesturing slightly with the tray he carried. Harry smiled.

"Wow. Lunch brought to me," he commented. "I must be getting spoiled."

"There isn't much else to do around here," Remus said, rolling his eyes. He set the tray down next to Harry on the bed, then once again sat at the foot, leaning on the same post as earlier that morning.

"This looks good," Harry complimented, surveying the hot chicken noodle soup, half ham sandwich, glass of milk, and vegetables. Remus smiled.

"Thanks, but I just carried it. Hestia and Tonks did it all," he admitted. Harry laughed, remembering something he'd noted at breakfast. He glanced at Remus.

"You do know Tonks fancies you, don't you?" he teased. Remus actually blushed a little.

"I don't know what you're talking about Harry, and you'd better start eating before I tell her that you didn't like what she made," the man threatened. Harry laughed again, but eagerly started in on the soup. "You might want to know that Kingsley has promised to teach you how to apparate in a week or so," Remus commented. Harry almost choked on his soup as he looked up.

"That's great!" he exclaimed. "Is he around? I'd like to thank—"

"He's already gone," Remus said. "Along with Hestia and Bill. Tonks headed out to do a few things. She'll be back soon," Remus added. Harry nodded.

"I found a few books on animagi in the library," he admitted, showing Remus the book he'd been reading. "I kinda wanted to get a start on that."

Remus laughed. "Your father was just as eager to be an animagus," he remembered. Harry smiled…but it faltered as he remembered his father…torturing Snape, humiliating him in front of everyone…he'd rather think of his mother. She seemed to be untouched by hate and arrogance. She was still perfect. Not even Snape could hate her.

Remus must have seen his fallen expression, because he read it perfectly. "Look, Harry," he said softly. "Just because you saw one memory where your father and Sirius acted like complete gits doesn't mean that that's all they were. Professor Snape was just as cruel…he even went after Lily a few times, I think…try to imagine it kind of like you and Ron and Hermione and your feud with Draco Malfoy."

"But he's a rotten git!" Harry objected. Remus smiled.

"See?" he pointed out. "That's what we felt like. Admittedly, Sirius really was the one that started it all, picking him out our first year, but by third it was pretty obvious that Severus would do anything to get us expelled, or killed. And the only reason Sirius ever picked Severus in the first place was because he seemed to be exactly what his parents would have wanted in a son. Sirius's home life here, though probably not as bad as yours with the Dursleys, was pretty bad. It made him rather dark and definitely dangerous at times."

Harry sighed. Why did it have to be so complicated? Why couldn't his dead father be left alone now that he was dead and gone? Harry knew his father was brave and selfless at the end—he heard his last words much too often. His father had stood between him and death, as had his mother. They were not selfish or arrogant then. Perhaps Remus was right…Snape was such a sour git anyway…

But his fear was that his father and Sirius had made Snape that way. And now the tortures his father had helped to visit upon Snape were being done unto him…by their victim. Snape had so much power over him, as his Professor, that it didn't seem fair. But perhaps it made up for the numbers: four marauders against one lonely little Slytherin.

"Deep thoughts, Harry," Remus's voice broke in. Harry blinked and smiled, realizing he'd stopped eating, the sandwich half-eaten and resting against his closed mouth at the moment.

He smiled sheepishly and took another bite. "Look—I wouldn't dwell on it too much, Harry," Remus continued. "Some of the things James did were pretty awful, but I was there, and I remember what it feels like to be that age. Things look different then. But whatever we did, it has nothing to do with you, Harry. So don't think that it's your fault, or that you have to pay for his sins, for our sins, even if Professor Snape blames you. He can't see you beyond James."

"I just wish I could hold onto the image of my parents that I used to have. All I had were their last words…and they were so selfless, so unconcerned with their own lives…they weren't cowards or arrogant or anything," Harry finally admitted. Remus sighed.

"I don't know how to make you feel better, Harry. I've never had a child around…all right, a young man," he corrected, seeing Harry's slightly insulted expression. "It's hard to know what to say, and honestly your troubles are a lot worse than most teenagers."

"Thanks," Harry said jokingly. "Glad to know there's something else abnormal about me," he added. Like many of the things he said, this one caused Remus to frown.

"You're not abnormal, Harry," Remus said. Harry looked away, uncomfortable.

"Yeah," he agreed halfheartedly. "Thanks for lunch, Remus," he said quickly, changing the subject. "I'm going to finish reading some, and then I'll be down to help make dinner," he offered. Remus nodded and stood up.

"I'm not much of cook, so you might have to do it all," Remus admitted. Harry laughed.

"No wonder you're so thin. Can't cook and you live alone," he teased. Remus laughed.

"You'd better remember that if we end up here at Grimmauld Place together. You'll be cooking all day long," Remus threatened. Harry laughed, and Remus took the tray and went to leave. "I'll see you downstairs at five, Harry."

"Thanks again, Remus," Harry said, then watched silently as Remus went out the door and closed it behind him. Then he returned to his books whole-heartedly.

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A/N: This chapter got much longer. Fourteenish pages. I'm getting much better. Now just to keep them consistent. I'm really on a roll now, and the next chapter is practically leaping onto the screen. Except for the fact that it's freakin' late and I have classes tomorrow…and my hmwk isn't all done…sigh. Well, as usual I'd love reviews…this is a lot of work, so any encouragement or even criticism is helpful. It makes this that much more fun. –Miss Laine


	6. Not So Sweet Sixteen

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

A/N: Read. Review. Not much else to say. I'm just belting out chapters one after the other right now. If you want them, you have to tell me so.

0000000000000000 Chapter 6: Not-So-Sweet Sixteen 0000000000000

Harry went to sleep on the thirtieth of July rather reluctantly. He hadn't had any major nightmares since the one the night that he was 'rescued' from the Dursleys, but he'd had regular, non-painful-in-the-morning nightmares. Bad ones, that always end up with Remus holding him steady while he tried to stop shaking.

Remus was a lifeline for him. It only took him a day and a bit to realize why.

Remus didn't judge him, didn't measure him against his dead father. While he had loved Sirius and had looked up to him, he'd been bothered and upset the times that Sirius had commented on how much he was not like his father. Sirius had been affected by Azkaban rather badly, and could not escape the past.

Remus wasn't incredibly better, really, but was definitely different. He was content to offer advice when it was asked for, was always there to comfort him when he woke up screaming, and was at ease most of the time. He was like a father, a real father, which worried about their kid but wanted them to have some independence.

And it felt good to be worried about. It felt good at night to wake up and find that he was not alone, that his screaming had not brought his relatives in to beat him into silence, but rather had brought a friend, a father, to make sure that he was all right. He'd never had that before.

When he was little, sleeping in the cupboard under the stairs, he'd had nightmares about spiders that turned out to be alarmingly real. He'd always woken up alone and had had to fight off the darkness and the monsters alone, crying and wondering if there would ever be anyone that cared if he were scared or not.

Now Remus did that for him. Harry had felt awkward at first, being sixteen and still getting held and comforted after nightmares…but Remus had stated matter-of-factly that everyone was entitled to a little comfort, and Harry had a lot of time to make up in that department.

And then he had added teasingly that he could always tell Tonks she could come when he woke up from nightmares. Harry had refused that faster than Remus could finish the sentence. That would be the last thing he'd need. An accident-prone witch less than ten years his senior playing mum to him. That would be too weird to ever mention to anyone.

And now it was finally the night before his birthday. He stayed up as usual, on his own in his bed, and watched the time change, finally becoming midnight. He was sixteen. Sixteen. He'd never really imagined being sixteen when he was younger, sitting in his cupboard and just waiting for the day he'd be old enough to go to secondary school.

He was hesitant to go to sleep after that. He felt unsettled, uneasy. Voldemort's comments about a test in that last vision had bothered him, and he just had a cold feeling in his stomach…but in the end exhaustion won out. He was still slowly getting used to eating more, and although his injuries were all fairly healed, from Pomfrey's care when he was unconscious, he was still weak and a little faint at times.

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He didn't dream at first. It was just black.

That was not good. That meant he would not dream at all. There would be a vision, and it would be ten times worse, because in the morning he would have to decide whether it had been real or not. Whether those people really had died like that…it was never anything good.

The vision began slowly, just a blurry, slightly titled room.

Usually, he saw things from Voldemort's point of view, but this time…he was lying on the floor already. He was a third party to this, it seemed. He felt real, but no one made any movement making him believe that they could see him.

The tilt of the floor was because he was lying on his side, head against the floor. He felt tired, but unhurt. He stood up, feeling awkward. This was one of the most realistic visions he'd ever had.

"So," came Voldemort's cold voice. "Finally, it works."

Everything was still blurry around him. He could not see Voldemort, nor anyone else, nor really anything but the patch of floor by his feet. He tried to look around, but it didn't work. It was like trying to turn in molasses, and he moved too slowly to see anything different. Everything was too blurry to be seen.

"What do you want?" a man shouted. Everything snapped into focus with those words.

Harry saw them now. Three men. One older, two younger. It looked like a father and his sons…or a master and his apprentices. "We've done nothing!"

"Every single witch and wizard has told me that before they died," Voldemort said with a humorous note. "They insist upon this rather vehemently, actually. And do you know what?" he asked, stepping closer, raising his wand. "It is true. Almost every single time."

The two younger men blocked the elder from Voldemort, who just laughed at their stupid bravery. Their pointless bravery. There would be no mercy, no escape this night. They would all die…

But then Harry, who was now standing sort of between the three men and the death eaters, saw something. One of the young men passed the elder a dagger. An instant later, the old man had plunged it into his heart. Voldemort shouted in rage as he realized one of his targets was dead… "CRUCIO!"

The man on the left screamed, and Harry screamed with him, caught unprepared for the sudden agony that shot through his body. He thrashed and twisted on the ground, screaming, screaming…he couldn't stop himself…it was burning through him, burning through his mi—

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"HARRY!"

The shout jerked him free. That, and the sharp sting on his face that somehow registered through his torment. "Harry!" another voice shouted. He blinked, moaning and groaning and rolling and thrashing.

He had to throw up. He knew he would in another few seconds, and he struggled with whomever it was that held him until they let him push his head over the edge of the bed, chest resting across their knees. He was just in time to throw up the remains of his dinner all over the floor.

The dry heaves that followed left him too weak to do more than collapse, stomach-down, onto whoever's knees were under him. There was a hand on his back, and he recognized it as Remus's.

He was lying on Remus's knees, head hanging over one side. He was too weak to hold his head up at all, and he stared downwards, eyes unfocused without his glasses. "Harry?" Remus said softly.

"Vision," he garbled. "Tom."

"Scourgify," Tonks said. She was in the room too, it seemed. Harry tried to push himself up, off Remus's probably dirtied knees, but Remus wouldn't let him up.

"Just lie still, Harry, and try to calm down," Remus asked. "You're shaking like a leaf."

"He—something, last time, I felt it—he did something so I feel it…I'm not him anymore," he tried to explain. His mind was too hazy to make coherent sentences. It was too hard to stick words together to make sense.

But Remus still seemed to get it. "I'll talk to Albus immediately," he said. "He'll know if there's something we can do to stop this."

"There were two men…three, the third, he…knife…the other two…he cursed…angry that lost one…" he rambled. If Remus hadn't pulled him out of the vision…he was very afraid that the Cruciatus would have driven him insane. Like the Longbottoms. Neville's parents…he could easily understand how they were driven insane by the pain. Just a few minutes of it was too much…it was always too much…he could almost feel his mind fogging over…

"I'll talk with Albus," Remus said again.

"What should I do?" Tonks asked worriedly.

"Stay with Harry," Remus said. Harry relaxed onto Remus's legs, feeling oddly disoriented. Remus must have noticed his suddenly relaxation, because he shifted abruptly. "You can't go back to sleep, Harry," Remus said. "Not until we know how to stop this. It's too dangerous."

"Yes," he agreed tiredly. His mind felt like it had been wrapped in blankets. It didn't want to do any work.

Remus's hand was rubbing his back, comforting circles on top of flannel pajamas that had been shrunk down for him from Sirius's old clothes.

"Birthday," he added, trying to sound better. Too bad he'd meant to say more than that. His mouth seemed to disagree with moving more than necessary.

"Hmm," Remus said. "I may have to leave for a bit, Harry. This is serious."

"Okay," he agreed. One-word sentences seemed to be about the best his mind could accomplish at the moment. "Potion?" he asked, hopeful. He really wanted something to take away the aching pains in his body. They would probably go away on their own after a while, but he liked the potions. They made the pain go away in seconds.

"I don't have anything, but a bath would help," Remus said softly. "It's four now. Take a bath and have some breakfast, Harry. I'll be back before you know it."

"Leaving?" Harry asked, alarmed. He didn't want Remus to go.

"This has to be taken care of right now, Harry. It's much more serious than I could have imagined…" Remus trailed off, lost in thought. The hand on Harry's back stopped moving for a bit, and then lifted off. Harry pulled himself off Remus's legs slowly, reluctant to leave that comfort and warmth, and slowly rocked back so he was kneeling in bed. Remus was facing him, and Tonks was standing near the doorway, looking frightened.

"Bath. Breakfast," he echoed, mind still feeling slow. Remus nodded, watching him rather carefully.

"That's right," Remus agreed. "Do that. Tonks'll have something nice and hot ready for you when you get out, all right?"

"Yeah," he said. "Thanks Tonks," he said. His mouth felt foreign, tired and hard to move. "Bye, Remus," he added for good measure. Remus looked a little worried now, but stood up, waving his wand at his soiled pant-legs to clean them.

"Harry, I'll be back, all right? Be careful, and I'll see you later. Merry Birthday, too," Remus told him. He nodded and smiled. He didn't really feel too happy, but smiling just seemed like a good idea at the moment.

He stayed kneeling on the bed while Remus whispered something to Tonks, gave him one last glance, and then swept out of the room. Tonks smiled at him weakly. "Well how about that bath, Harry?" she asked.

He nodded. "Yeah. Bath," he echoed. He got his legs out from underneath himself and managed to stand up, though he tottered badly. He tried to take a few steps, but the crippling ghost pains in his legs made it impossible to take more than a few steps.

He ended up collapsing at the door to the bathroom, falling straight down in a pile. He felt hands lifting him back up, and held on to Tonks as she pulled him back to his feet. "Upsy-daisy there, Harry," she said. "Don't want to pitch into the tub just yet," she told him. He nodded.

"Yeah," he said. His mind was still foggy. He felt dazed, like he'd been hit on the head. Right after he'd woken up, everything had felt clear. Painful, but clear. And then the fog had settled in…now it was hard to make the right words come out…it was too difficult to remember the right…

He was shaking. Trembling violently, so much so that Tonks had to ease him back down onto the floor next to the tub. This was shock, he realized. Remus hadn't seen it coming, but Tonks couldn't possibly miss it. "Harry, try to stay still and stay awake," she told him. "I'm going to get help for you."

He nodded, teeth clattering together. His back and limbs were the worst, the already pain-wracked muscles spasming and twitching so much that it was hard to breathe. His eyelids drooped, but then a stinging pain was in his face. "Sorry, Harry, but you gotta stay awake," Tonks said. Harry hadn't realized she was back. "Help's coming, but you're not going to like it," she warned him.

He groaned. "Sn—" he got out. Tonks nodded and gave him a weak smile.

"Better than lyin' here going into shock," she said sagely. Harry wished very much that he could hit her, or at least tell her what he thought. Neither seemed to be a viable option, though.

He'd get her later, he decided, but his exact plans for her were interrupted with a violent shiver that shook his body so much that he knew he had just left a few new bruises along his back and shoulders.

He didn't know how much longer it was before he heard the sour voice. It felt like seconds, like days, years, or perhaps just mere moments. His mind was too fogged over to care anymore.

"Out of my way," Snape snapped. Harry thought he saw Tonks moving away from him, but he did not have his glasses on and his eyes refused to cooperate completely. "Potter, you idiot."

There was a light in his left eye. He blinked his eyes and tried to turn away. Instead, the stupid light just went into his right eye. He groaned angrily and tried to turn away again. He couldn't close his eyes. He had to stay awa—a shuddering spasm cut off his thoughts. Seconds later, a cool vial pressed against his lips and he swallowed down something bitter and icy cold…but it stopped the shivers. He could now lie still on the ground, breathing hard and trying to focus his eyes and count all his fingers and toes.

"How many fingers, Potter?" Snape asked.

"Ten," he breathed, wiggling them all as best he could. He heard Tonks snort and Snape snarl with exasperation.

"Yes, Potter, you do have ten fingers. Very good. You can go to muggle kindergarten now. How many fingers am I showing you, you infernal idiot?" Snape demanded. Harry blinked. What fingers, he thought?

"Glasses," he said. "Can't without glasses."

His mind was trying to work again. He'd meant to tell Snape in a rather snotty tone that he couldn't very well tell him how many fingers he saw if he could not even see the fingers to begin with. What had come out was close enough, though it was delivered in a rather gaspy voice.

By the time he'd thought all that through, his glasses were being slipped onto his face. The fingers appeared, this time in focus. "F-two," he said. For a moment, he'd thought there were four, but then his vision had slid from double to single.

Snape scowled at him and pushed another vial to his mouth. He drank it down, not really caring if he were being poisoned or not, and his vision began to clear. The aches were calming, too, only the most serious ones in his back, shoulders, and thighs remaining. He watched from the flat of his back as Snape turned away from him, still scowling.

"I want a cold rag, and a bowl with chilled mint and dragonscale in it," Snape directed.

"Sure thing, sir," Tonks said quickly, her voice a little sharp. She was angry, Harry realized vaguely. Harry thought he could see her leave, but then Snape was glaring down at him again.

"I'm getting tired of coming to your rescue, Mr. Potter," Snape said. "If you had learned any of what I attempted to teach you, we would not be in this position." Snape sneered down at him. "None of us would be in our present positions."

That hurt. Harry had tried, but it didn't help knowing Snape was raking through his mind for the very worst of his memories, the most humiliating things he could find. Knowing that Snape would probably remember them all, recall them all and smile, happy to know his enemy's sufferings. "Git," he growled. "Go away," he said.

Snape just lifted an eyebrow. "Really? And leave you quaking and whining on this lovely floor?" Snape queried. "I would love to, but I do fear that Albus would not like it."

"Hate…you…my mother," he got out between breathing. "…go…through…tearing…mind."

"A little melodramatic, aren't we, Potter?" Snape asked. Harry glared, angry now. But he didn't let it grow. This was when he was vulnerable. If he let the hate go…he didn't think he could hold it off this time. All he wanted was to be away from Snape.

Harry hit the water with a loud and awkward splash. He hadn't meant to fall in, but he hadn't realized that he was at the very edge of the tub. He only had meant to roll away from Snape, away from those dark, mocking eyes and try to recover just a little. It was hard to think up arguments and insults while lying flat on his back waiting for everything to stop spinning.

The warm water enveloped him instantly, closing in over his head. It felt good. Warm. Safe. He opened his mouth to breathe in, but then hands grabbed his hair and jerked him upwards, out of the water. He breathed in a few droplets and coughed hard. "Stupid brat!" Snape shouted, jerking him completely clear of the water and onto the floor again by his hair alone. Harry's hand flew upwards to try to pull himself free, but he only managed to hit ineffectually at Snape's hand.

The water seemed to have been the shock he needed, though. "LET ME GO!" he shouted. "GET OFF ME YOU GREASY GIT!"

There was clattering, then the sound of something crashing to the floor and shattering. "What's going on?" It was Tonks. She'd undoubtedly just dropped whatever it was she had been supposed to bring.

The hand tightened in Harry's hair for a moment, pulling painfully, and then released him. He fell back against the tiles with a crack, glaring up at Snape with as much anger as he could muster. "Professor Snape is not welcome in my home," Harry said sharply.

"Harry! You're all right!" Tonks cried, completely ignoring what he'd said. "You're not brain-damaged?"

"What?" he cried.

"That's up for debate," Snape snapped.

"Shut up!" Harry shot back. "No, I don't think I'm any more brain damaged than I've ever been, Tonks. And thank you very much for bringing me help, and thank you very much Professor Snape for administering help, but now GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!"

Tonks looked taken aback, but Snape just smiled and stood. "As you wish, Potter," he said. "Don't expect me to come running the next time you suffer a little attack."

"Of course you will!" Harry shouted, still enraged. He'd managed to push himself up to a sitting position, so that he could at least look at Snape from something other than the flat of his back. "You wouldn't pass up a chance to see me suffering, now would you?"

"I suppose not," Snape said mildly, with an evil smile. "Do not expect any helpful treatments, Potter," Snape threatened, and then whirled around, swept past Tonks, and left. Harry breathed hard for a few more minutes, trying to regain control of his emotions.

"Tonks," he said softly.

"Yeah, Harry?" she asked. She sounded a little shell-shocked now.

"Don't ever ask him to help me, please," he asked. "Even if I'm dying or something. I don't ever want to see him in this house again."

"Er, Harry, he comes for Order meetings," Tonks reminded him awkwardly. He sighed.

"I"ll stay up here on those days. Just someone lock the door to the downstairs or something so I'm warned. If I see him again and I'm in a better condition…I can't promise that I won't take a few swings at him," he said. Slowly, he got his feet under himself and tottered over to the wall, leaning heavily against it.

Tonks was laughing. "Ol' Snape wouldn't know what hit him."

"Sure he would," Harry said with a grin. "I'd make sure he knew it was me." He sighed, staring at the water. "So you really thought I was brain damaged?" he asked. Tonks blushed a little.

"Well, you did seem to be having trouble speaking. And Remus was worried when you started saying single words and forgetting normal grammar," she admitted. "Mostly it was the eyes, though. You were looking pretty glazed over."

"I think I was going into shock then," he said. "When I woke up everything was clear but I was too muddled to say what I wanted…but then all of a sudden everything started getting foggy. I think falling in the tub is what broke me out of it. And whatever those potions were," he conceded. He did not want to give Snape any credit, but he didn't think the water alone had knocked him out of shock.

"Remus'll be relieved when he comes back," Tonks said, sounding happier. Harry laughed.

"I'd say he was going to go gray over me, but he already is," Harry commented. Tonks stretched closer to hit his arm.

"He is not graying!" she told him. He laughed again. Tonks really had it for Remus.

"Okay, mildly silver at the temples," he said. Tonks glared at him but didn't say anything. "Look—I'm going to take that bath now," he told her. "I'll be down to eat breakfast as soon as I'm done."

"I'm going to hold you to that, Harry," Tonks said warningly. "And don't drown yourself, all right?"

"Yeah, Snape won't be here to jerk me out by my hair," he grumbled. Tonks frowned.

"I don't like him either—I had him at Hogwarts, and he was a right sot. But he's important to the Order, and Dumbledore trusts him. So we're stuck with him," she said. Harry sighed.

"I know," he admitted. He glanced at Tonks. "Now go away so I can take my bath!"

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When he made it down to breakfast, there were several steaming plates ready for him. He'd gotten so that he could eat about a normal-sized breakfast before he felt too full, and Tonks had been slowly upping the amounts.

She wasn't around, it seemed, so he sat down and picked up his fork.

And stopped. The food had been left out…perhaps Tonks hadn't made it. He didn't trust Kreacher at all to leave food he hadn't prepared alone. He checked with his left hand that his wand was tucked safely into his pocket in his pants, and then got up again, heading over to the living room.

"Tonks?" he called. "You around?"

There wasn't any response. He told himself sternly that she was probably lying unconscious somewhere, having tripped down a staircase, and went back into the kitchen. He spotted a piece of parchment on the countertop that he hadn't noticed before and picked it up.

'_Took a long bath, I think? Well, the food's okay. Kreacher, last I saw, was holed up in the attic and isn't coming out. Said he'd not come out until you were dead, or something like that…anyway, I wouldn't go near any open bodies of water while I'm gone, or crawl in the fireplace or anything. So eat up, and I'll be back in a bit. Don't worry, everything's fine._

_--Tonks.'_

Harry sighed. So the food was okay to eat. That was all the reassurance he needed before he started in on the pancakes and sausage and eggs, wolfing down the food until he felt slightly less hungry. Then, he slowed down a little in order to skim the Daily Prophet lying on the table and drink a glass of milk.

He didn't feel sick and nothing tasted gritty, so he was pretty sure that Kreacher was still hiding out somewhere and not coming down. That was perfectly fine with him, he told himself happily. He was sixteen today, on his way to learning to apparate, becoming an animagi, and starting his sixth year at the coolest school in the whole of Britain.

Although he had had a rather bad morning…

He heard a sound. "Tonks? That you?" he called.

There was no response. Worried, he got up. What if someone was trying to break in? What if there were Death Eaters? What if they'd killed Tonks, and he'd just been sitting here eating while she lay dead?

Really worried now, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and held it tightly in his hand, creeping towards the door of the living room. It was empty. Dark and silent…too silent, he thought, then laughed at himself. He sounded like an idiot. Of course the stupid house was silent.

The next door led to the large dining room, he remembered. It was closed. He didn't remember it being closed before. He thought of turning on the living room lights before opening the next door, but he didn't want to make himself a larger target.

He turned the knob slowly with his left hand, his right holding his wand right next to the door. So he could fire off at least one good curse before they attacked him. He pushed the door open a little farther. The room was pitch black. If there had been anyone in the room, they would have seen his silhouette by now.

Sighing, he stood up.

And then the lights flickered on and there was a shout.

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A/N: Bwah ha ha! Don't worry, the mystery will be solved in a day, when I post again. Something like the next twenty chapters are all planned out, and they just have to be typed. As I write this, I'm munching on bagel and listening to music. I think the combination makes me want to make chapters end in terrible, horrible places. Well, at least for you. I know who it is in the room (I read ahead in the story :o) ). –Miss Laine


	7. Birthday Ups

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of the Harry Potter settings or plots, nor any of anything associated with Harry Potter. Only JK Rowling can say that she does.

A/N: I'm hoping eventually I'll have a respectable enough number of reviews that people will know that this story is all right. I'm trying to keep the quality and the grammar good, so if you see anything horrible or terribly wrong, please just drop me a note. I promise I won't attack you or anything. I'll probably actually post more if you do…

0000000000000000 Chapter 7: Birthday Ups 0000000000000000000

Harry jumped about three feet straight up when the lights went on, though his wand stayed in his hand. A curse was halfway out of his mouth before his brain caught up and stopped him from really hurting someone.

"SURPRISE!!!" over a dozen voices shouted. Harry thought perhaps he'd die of a heart attack right there and then. He did not need this, not when he had managed to convince himself that the house was overrun with death eaters. It wasn't good for him.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY HARRY!" someone else shouted. "SWEET SIXTEEN!" they or someone else went on. Harry blinked, and he heard laughter. Then, two redheads detached themselves from the throng. Bill and Charlie.

"You should see your face, mate," Bill said with a laugh. Harry glared.

"I thought the house was being taken over by death eaters," he told them with a glare. Charlie laughed.

"Oh come on, Harry. They would have made more noise than we did," he said. Harry glared at him.

"I could've had a heart attack right here in the doorway, for your information. And if I hadn't been watching too closely, I could've cursed you very painfully," he informed the red-haired man. Charlie smiled, but this time a little nervously.

"Really?" he asked. Harry nodded slowly.

"I've learned some pretty good ones, too," he said.

"Aw, lighten up, Harry," Bill chided. "It's your sixteenth birthday, and even if Ron couldn't be here, you do have a few Weasleys around. Enjoy it, all right?"

"Fine," he groused, still a little grouchy.

"You're just grumpy because we surprised you," Tonks spoke up. Harry glared at her.

"I was pretty sure you'd fallen down some stairs somewhere," he told her. "So I went ahead and ate breakfast."

"What breakfast?" she asked, a blank look on her face. Harry blanched.

"You—you mean you didn't—" he said weakly.

Tonks laughed. "Oh, that breakfast!" she said. Harry went red.

"I'm going to get you, Nymphadora!" he told her, purposely using her first name.

"Hey!" she squeaked.

"Let's start in on the gifts," Remus suggested. Harry looked around, seeing who all the guests were.

A lot of aurors, some he did recognize…and Dumbledore was here. Harry was glad to see the old wizard. He'd wanted to apologize for his behavior at the end of fifth year all summer, but he had wanted to do it in person. The two Weasley brothers, Remus, Tonks…no students he knew. All adults, but much better than sitting around doing nothing all day.

"Wow," he said. The dining table was covered in gifts. "This is really great," he said. "Thanks for doing all this for me…you didn't need to," he said.

"On the contrary," Dumbledore said with a smile, "your sixteenth birthday is nothing to sneeze at, Harry. After all, you only get to have a sixteenth birthday once."

Harry tried to figure that argument out for a bit, until he saw the small smile on the old man's face. "Very funny," he said.

"First of all," Dumbledore said. He produced an envelope with a flourish.

"My OWLs!" Harry cried. Dumbledore nodded.

"Hand delivered, no less," he said, handing them directly to Harry, who only hesitated a second before ripping them open.

_'Dear Mr. Harry Potter, _

_We are pleased to inform you of your official OWL results. Please be sure to consult your school for their requirements for NEWT level classes, and note that all grades marked with '0' are high honors achieved by those scoring in the top one percent of all fifth year students:_

_'History of Magic: T_

_Charms: EE_

_Divination: O_

_Astronomy: P_

_Transfiguration: EE_

_Potions: O_

_Herbology: A_

_Defense Against the Dark Arts: O0_

_Care of Magical Creatures: O_

_'Good job on your OWLs, and we look forward to recording your NEWTs. Please be sure to follow the requirements needed for your intended field of study.'_

"Wow." That was all Harry could say. He didn't bother reading the last few lines of the letter…just something about how proud they were of him, etc, etc, and then a few pompous-looking signatures.

"Well?" Tonks pressed. "Tell us!"

"I got a T in History of Magic," he told them. "Has anyone ever done that before?"

"That may be a new record," Dumbledore admitted. "I will have your test framed for Professor Binns, perhaps," he mused. Harry hoped that Dumbledore was only joking.

"Uh…the rest are pretty good. Exceeds Expectations in Transfiguration and Charms, and Outstandings in Potions, Divination, DADA, and Care of Magical Creatures. I got Average in Herbology," he summed it up. "I must have made up some really great stories on my Divination final."

"That may have more to do with the graders, rather than your skill, for that particular exam," Dumbledore commented. "And how many times you predicted meetings with red-eyed evil wizards." Harry laughed.

"I got a really high O in Defense Against the Dark Arts," he said. "I think they really liked my Patronus," he explained. "I can't believe I got an 'O' in Potions, though."

"I had a small talk with Professor Snape about it, and though he was loathe to do so, he admitted that your grades were worthy of letting you into NEWT level potions this year," Dumbledore informed him. "Your graders were fairly impressed with your skill."

"I'm just glad I know what homework to do now," he said. "No more history of goblins and trolls."

"Good job on your grades, Harry," Remus said. "I'm proud of you."

"Thanks, Remus," he said, feeling a little embarrassed. Tonks fidgeted impatiently.__

"Well, come on," she broke in. "Presents!"

Harry laughed and headed over to the table, waiting until everyone had sat down before finding a seat between Remus and Dumbledore. A package was passed down to him, and he opened it quickly, interested to see what it was and who it was from.

Inside the package was a book. He picked it up, looking at the blank cover and the crumpled corners. "It's pretty old," Remus commented. "I figured since you're here, I'd find you something else for your birthday besides the glass lily. That was Sirius's, I think. Or your dad's. I haven't figured out the password on it yet, but you're welcome to try. It was in a bin of Lily and James's few belongings that were recovered from the house after—after it was destroyed."

Harry nodded. He set the book aside as Tonks put another package in his hands. "Thanks, Remus," he said.

"This is from me!" Tonks informed him excitedly. Harry opened the package quickly, tearing apart the bright snitch-covered wrapping paper. Inside was a red cloak. He picked it up, shaking it out, and saw that it was a very nice cloak with a golden clip on it. He'd never had any cloak except his black Hogwarts cloak. This seemed like something Dumbledore would wear. A real wizard's cloak.

"This is great," he told her. She smiled happily, stealing a glance at Remus, and Harry folded the cloak back up and set it aside. Dumbledore then handed him an envelope.

"This is for you, Harry," he said. "It is not really—open it. Then I will explain," Dumbledore said. Harry nodded and opened the envelope. Inside were adoption papers. They were filled out but not completely signed.

"Wow," he said, surprised. He looked up at Dumbledore for the explanation.

"These are not official, Harry, and won't be until I can sort a few things out with the Ministry. They quite often listen to what I have to say," he told Harry. The way his eyes were twinkling, Harry wanted to laugh. It was hilarious. "I cannot escape the fact that law will not let Remus adopt you, but I can take guardianship, and am quite willing to do so. Your relatives obviously were not a good decision on my part." The old man sobered.

"I'm fine," he assured him. "And I did provoke them a lot, really."

Dumbledore smiled again. "I would have guardianship, but Remus would have parental rights over you," he explained. Harry nodded.

"That sounds perfect," he said. Dumbledore smiled.

"Good," he said. "We'll talk about it more this evening…but for now, there are numerous boxes you must open!"

Harry turned back to the table, tucking the papers in with the book where they would be safe. The rest of the packages were all about the same size and wrapped in brown paper. He reached out to pull one closer, and was surprised at how heavy it was.

"Careful opening that," Remus warned. Harry frowned. Hopefully it wasn't a live animal of some sort…

"What is it?" he asked. Remus smiled evily.

"You'll see," he said. "It's not all great when you turn sixteen," he said cryptically. Harry stared at the man that he hoped would soon be his 'dad,' and then tore open the box.

"What?" he said stupidly. It was full of letters of all shapes and sizes. He stuck his hand in the box, and felt all the way down to the bottom. It was filled with letters, packed tight with them. He looked around, dazed. "And all the rest? They're letters too?" he asked. Remus nodded, as did the others.

"I'm afraid that we have something to tell you, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You see, up until now we've been able to legally withhold mail from you."

"You've been filtering my mail?" he asked, a little angry now. Dumbledore smiled, and Remus broke in nervously.

"Well, you see, Harry, these aren't letters from anyone you know," he explained. Harry was perplexed.

"Then who in the bloody world would send me letters?" he asked. "There aren't any from second year in here, are there?" he asked, suspicious. Remus put a hand on his arm, stopping him from going through the box.

"No, at least not what you're thinking of," Remus said. He smiled weakly. "They're fan mail."

"WHAT?!" Harry yelped. "What fans?"

"Duh, Harry, remember—you're famous!" Tonks told him. He frowned.

"I never wondered why I didn't get letters after articles were published in the Prophet," he mused. "Hermione got howlers fourth year, I guess. I just figured no one would be writing me. I mean, why?"

"Well, I guess you'll find out," Remus said. "We can't legally hold your mail after you turn sixteen, and anyway, we figured you're old enough to sort through your own mail. Save us a bloody lot of time."

"How many letters are there?" he asked, alarmed. "And what do they want?"

"Hmm…I'd say about ten, twenty letters a day…so probably close to ten thousand letters now. Of course, we filtered out the cursed ones and the junk mail and the likes," Remus told him. "Most of them seem to be just letters thanking you for various things, although I've only ever read a couple. We didn't want to pry into what's rightfully yours."

"I don't want it!" he said. "You can keep them, burn them, send them back!" There was no way he was going to be like Lockhart, answering fan mail. Remus laughed.

"You'd better get used to it, Harry," he said. "When the school year starts—"

"Oh, no way," he said. "Nuh, uh. Don't tell me—they're going to start coming in the Great Hall at breakfast!" Remus nodded, smiling a little less happily now. Harry groaned. "I'll never live this down," he groaned. "Everyone will laugh at me."

"We will have to go through it all, as well, in order to check for any dangerous mail," Dumbledore added. Harry glanced at him.

"Dangerous mail?" he echoed.

"Cursed letters, nasty howlers, the like," Dumbledore said, like it as nothing big.

"How often do I get that kind of mail?" he squeaked. It was Kingsley Shaklebolt that spoke up.

"Seventy-five over your fifth year," he said.

"Seventy-five?!" Harry exclaimed, appalled. Kingsley smiled grimly.

"About half were howlers shouting about how you should be locked up, and most of the rest were from silent supporters of Voldemort—they were letters with simple hexes or curses on them. Mostly threats and the like," he told Harry, who gaped.

"B—but who would? I mean," he floundered. Bill took pity on him.

"You may have fans, mate, but you've also got plenty of enemies," he said gently. Harry sat down with a thump, barely realizing that he'd stood up.

"Well, what'd I do to them?" he asked stupidly. He recovered. "No, don't answer that," he said wearily. Charlie closed his mouth. "How'm I supposed to read through all of this?" he wondered. An auror he didn't know leaned over the table and took a letter off the top of the pile. He pulled out a short knife and slit it open and pulled out the letter.

Before Harry could protest, the man had unfolded the letter and held it up to read. "Dear Harry Potter," the auror read out loud, "My name is Julie Thomas, and I'm ten years old. In school we're doing a project on you, and my mom said I could send you a letter. Did you really kill You-Know-Who? Do you have an owl? Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Now wait a minute!" Harry protested. The auror just grinned, cleared his throat, and continued.

"I know you're just twelve, Harry, but I think I'd be a great girlfriend. You're so cute, and I really know a whole lot about you. Would you like to come to my school and visit? My teacher told me if you responded you could come. I sent you a picture just in case," the man said. He fished a small photograph out of the envelope and flicked it over to Harry, who picked it up and blanched.

"She's probably ten!" he protested.

"She did write this when you were twelve," Tonks pointed out. She smiled at the other auror. "Come on, Jakes, finish it up," she told him.

The auror read ahead a bit and laughed a few times. Harry blushed red and took a swipe at the letter. Jakes just pulled it out of reach. "All the girls in my school started a Harry Potter fanclub, and we'd really like to actually meet you," the man went on, barely able to read through his laughing. "One girl says her mom even saw you one day at Diagon Alley! Anyway, I hope you write back, though everyone says you never do, and I hope you don't have a girlfriend by the time I come to Hogwarts! Love, Julie."

Jakes tossed the letter across the table and Harry snatched it up before tearing it into little pieces. "That—are they all like that?" he asked. "Are there really fan clubs?"

"Don't let it go to your head, son," Jakes said, still laughing. Harry groaned, falling back in his chair.

"This is a disaster. I liked not knowing people watched me all the time! I liked not knowing that Julie Brown or James or Thomes or whatever her name was trying to be my girlfriend when I was TWELVE! For all I know, she's at Hogwarts now—what, in fourth year this year?"

Dumbledore smiled and opened his mouth. Harry groaned again. "She's a fourth year Hufflepuff," Dumbledore told him. Harry clapped his hands over his ears.

"No way," he griped. "No way can this be possible," he said out loud. "So she's at school, probably watching me or something. With her FAN CLUB!!"

"Oh, I don't think it's that bad," Tonks said with a grin. "But I wouldn't change in a room that you haven't checked the perimeters of," she warned him. Harry gaped. That hadn't occurred to him.

"B—but w-what w-would…?" he got out. Tonks laughed.

"Oh, come on," she said. "Young man, not terrible to look at—not that I'm looking, Harry," Tonks added quickly, glancing at Remus again. Harry couldn't help but roll his eyes at this. Tonks had such a big crush on Remus…it was disgusting, almost. "But you are famous, Harry, and cute, and lots of girls would just love to be your girlfriend. And girls can be pretty ingenious."

"They'd try to sneak peeks at me changing?" he asked, horrified. "Why?" Tonks giggled.

"There was this really cute guy in Ravenclaw..," she started.

Harry slammed his hands back over his ears and hunched over in his seat. "I do not want to hear this!" he said loudly. "I'll just change under my sheets from now on, and I'll keep clean with a washrag and wash my hair in the sink!" he declared.

Dumbledore chuckled. "It isn't that terrible at Hogwarts, is it? And I can assure you, Harry, that the boy's bathrooms are perfectly safe," he said reassuringly. Harry glanced at him.

"Really?" he asked. Dumbledore nodded seriously. But then his eyes twinkled again.

"I cannot say the same for the locker rooms, though…some of the young witches are rather ingenious when it comes to finding ways to spy on the locker rooms," he admitted. Harry sighed.

"Why does life have to get even more difficult? I'd rather anything than this," he said. Remus patted his shoulder.

"I'm sure you can get Hermione, Ron, and some of the others to help you out," he said. "Perhaps you can find a few spells that will sort these letters out for you."

"Wow. What a wonderful birthday present," he said out loud, very, very, very sarcastically. Remus laughed.

"It was more of a birthday not-so-present," Remus admitted. "But it's your responsibility now. You'll have to get used to it, because it's not going to stop anytime soon."

"What if I changed my name?" he asked quickly. "Then they couldn't deliver the damn letters!"

"Very funny, Harry," Remus said, rolling his eyes. Somewhere, a clock chimed.

Jakes stood up. "We have to be going," he admitted. "Business," he explained. Dumbledore waved a hand.

"Of course," he agreed. "Thank you for stopping by," he added. The man nodded and smiled.

"I'm glad I had the chance," Jakes replied. He left, followed by all of the other strange aurors and Kingsley Shaklebolt. Harry turned to Dumbledore.

"Not to sound ungrateful or anything, but why were they here?" he asked. Dumbledore smiled.

"Another part of getting older," he explained. "Politics. Most of them are rather new aurors, and we'd like to have them on our side. Lewis Jakes is their boss, primarily, and his request was that he get to meet you and speak with you."

"What?" Harry asked, surprised. "I'm asking this a lot, but why me?"

"Because you're sort of the figurehead for the light side. Not to sound demeaning, but you're the mascot to everyone who does not know why Voldemort is after you. Mr. Jakes needed to know what you were like. I think you won him over," Dumbledore explained. Harry sighed, looking away.

"I'm starting to get tired of being a celebrity," he stated. "Why can't someone else do it?" he asked rhetorically. Dumbledore stood up.

"We need to speak about a few things," he said. "Remus, if you would? Tonks, could you please make some late lunch?" he asked.

Harry and Remus followed Dumbledore out of the room, and into the back sitting room. There was a fire lit in the darkly lit room, and several large stuffed chairs around a low coffee table. Harry checked the clock on the wall and saw that it was indeed getting late—in a few hours, it would be time for dinner.

Harry hesitated just inside the room. "Harry?" Remus asked.

"Er—could I talk with Professor Dumbledore alone for a bit?" he asked. Remus nodded and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Harry waited as Dumbledore turned towards him.

"Is there something you wished to speak about privately, Harry? I planned to talk with both you and Remus about your vision, but if you didn't want him here…" Dumbledore offered. Harry shook his head.

"No, no," he said. "I—I wanted to apologize for how I behaved at the end of the school year,' he said quickly. "I shouldn't have shouted at you like that, and I shouldn't have destroyed all of your possessions like I did."

Harry expected—well, he wasn't sure what he expected. But when he'd gathered enough courage to look up, Dumbledore was smiling at him. "Harry, I don't know why you think you must apologize for that, but I will certainly accept it. I understand why you were upset, and in your place I too would have been angry. I made my own mistakes last year as well, Harry. I never thought your anger was undeserved."

"But—but I said some really terrible things!" he protested. "I—I didn't mean them, though. I was just upset, and—"

"Harry, my dear boy…young man, everyone is entitled to a few rash words. Even Remus had a few strong words for me when he spoke with me that night," Dumbledore said placatingly. "I fear that many of my mistakes stemmed from the fact that I do not want to see you hurt, Harry. It makes me willing to risk others for you."

Harry was horrified. "Don't do that!" he protested. Dumbledore sighed.

"I didn't mean to say that to make you feel guilty, Harry," Dumbledore said. "What I'm trying to say is that I want to do what's best for you, Harry, and sometimes that makes me blind to what you really want. Sometimes what's best for a person is not what they need the most."

"I—I never listened, and I lied about taking Occlumency from Professor Snape after he threw me out, and—" Harry rambled. For some inane reason he felt determined to make sure that Dumbledore knew that he was at fault.

"Harry, I know you've made mistakes in your life. You are a child, just sixteen now. You're allowed to make as many mistakes as you want. I make mistakes too, despite my age, as does Professor Snape, Remus, everyone," Dumbledore said. He moved closer, and Harry had to look away as Dumbledore put his hands on his shoulders and tried to look him in the eye. "Harry, I am proud of you, and there is not a day that goes by that I don't wish you were my grandson."

"What?!" Harry asked, looking up in surprise. Dumbledore smiled at him as their eyes met.

"I have missed having a family, Harry…my efforts against Grindewauld left me little time to pursue family. If I had had a grandson, I would imagine he would be something like you," Dumbledore explained. "Ever since you were one, and I had to leave you with the Dursleys…"

"But—but I'm not—I don't have—why would—" Harry was again floundering around for words. Why in bloody hell would Dumbledore even want to imagine that Harry could be his grandson? Wasn't he burden enough? His own relatives couldn't even stand the thought that he was related to them. They'd rather he just up and died one day and didn't come back…

"Harry, I think you underestimate how much people care for you," Dumbledore said gently. "Do not ever think that you are unwanted, Harry."

"But—" he started to protest.

"No objections, Harry," Dumbledore said sternly. "Now, I think it's time Remus came in so we could discuss these visions of yours…and perhaps you can tell me why Professor Snape reported to me today with a black eye?"

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A/N: I just thought that this was a hilarious place to end the chapter. I tried to make this chapter a little more humorous than others, so this is what you get. The next should continue in the same way…well, except for…hmm, I'll just leave you to guess. That'll come in the next chapter…or perhaps the one after. It depends how long Harry and Remus feel like chatting with Dumbledore. And if Tonks actually manages to bring them something to eat without dropping anything…now I'm rambling.

In response to a review I got: This isn't going to be a super-Harry fic. He just wants to learn a few useful skills…but don't expect them to come easily to him. And as for the Dursley's, I think they just reached their breaking point. I really didn't mean for them to be quite so abusive, but as Harry just kept on yelling at them and such they got a little more upset than I meant. I kind of imagined their perspective being that they have a deranged teen in the house who has already made their only son a wreck. Why wouldn't they be really really mad? And Vernon's already proved that he can cause physical harm to Harry when sufficiently upset.

Oh! Please Review! --Miss Laine


	8. After Dinner Party

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, etcetera.

A/N: Sometimes, I just don't have anything to say. I would like to thank all of those that reviewed, and point out that at the end of this chapter I actually respond to some of my reviews if they had questions in them. I'm still new at this, so give me a chance.

I will finish this thing whether it kills me or not, so don't worry that it will become the dreaded 'discontinued.' I have my own little questions about Rowling's books so far, and I'm trying to solve a couple of them my style in this while I wait for the next book to come out in a year or two.

000000000000000 Chapter 8: After-Dinner Party 000000000000000

Harry sipped the warm butterbeer slowly. It felt soothing in his slightly nervous stomach, and it made the sandwich he was trying to eat go down better. Everything that had happened today, on his birthday, had been a little much. First a vision, then a shouting match with Snape, then OWLs, then adoption papers, and then boxes and boxes of fan mail. He had definitely not seen that last one coming.

And now he was sitting in a warm den, Remus next to him and Dumbledore seated across from him and a little to the left. Tonks had left, for once realizing that a little privacy was needed, and they had eaten their late lunch quickly. Remus looked nervous, Harry felt nervous, and Dumbledore looked calm as usual.

"The adoption papers—" Dumbledore began, then paused to give Harry and Remus time to look up and finish chewing and swallowing. "They are more of a formality than anything," he said. He smiled at Harry. "It is just to appease the Ministry, really, because they would never allow a werewolf to have custody of their hero. No offense to you, Remus."

"None taken," Remus said mildly.

"I take offense to the hero thing," Harry grumbled. Remus elbowed him slightly, and Dumbledore just smiled.

"The loophole in the papers is that I can hand over care of my charge to whomever I see fit, no matter their background. So Remus will have practical rights," he explained. Harry hesitated.

"I—I never really asked if you wanted to do this, Remus…" he admitted. The werewolf hugged him around the shoulders.

"Harry, I was the one that brought it up," Remus reminded him. "There is nothing I'd want more than to take care of you."

"I'm sixteen," he pointed out. "Another year and I won't be anyone's bur—er—charge."

"That doesn't matter to me," Remus said firmly. "The point is making you family on paper, so that it's really official. And I will always have time for you, Harry, no matter how old you get."

"Thanks," Harry said, embarrassed by Remus just a little. This was obviously something that really mattered a lot to Remus.

"Now, you just have to sign in a few places, Harry…Remus and I have already signed…" Dumbledore broke in. Harry nodded and took up the flamboyant green quill that Dumbledore produced, already full of ink, from his robes.

Harry signed wherever Dumbledore pointed, too eager to see this done to even wonder what the papers all said. When he'd scratched in the last signature, he gave the quill back to Dumbledore and sat back while the man folded up the papers and tucked them into his robes.

"Now, Harry," Dumbledore began again. "I know that the right Mr. Weasley and Ms. Granger could not be here today, but I do believe they brought you presents—"

"Where?" Harry asked. He'd been kind of disappointed earlier when he hadn't even gotten a word about Ron from Bill or Charlie.

"I believe Charlie has them," Dumbledore said. "He wanted to wait until after you've had dinner and some cake."

"Aren't you staying?" Harry asked. Dumbledore looked genuinely regretful.

"I'm afraid I can't, Harry. There is too much to be done right now…and as part of that, we need to discuss these visions you've started having," Dumbledore said. Harry did not want to talk about them, but he'd vowed to stop lying to Dumbledore sometime over the summer. So he was going to try hard to stick to that.

"What do you need to know?" he asked.

Dumbledore thought about it a moment. "First of all, I need to know about what Voldemort says," he said. "Just give me a summary of the vision you had last night," he suggested. Harry breathed in and out once, going over it all in his head.

"Right," he said. "Well, I was on the floor in this room," he began. "Usually I see things as if I'm Tom, but this time it was like I was just a third person there. Except nobody could see me. He said something about something happening again, or a test or something, and there were these three wizards, an old one and two younger. The younger ones stood in front of the old one and passed him a knife. He killed himself before Tom could do anything, but then he cursed the younger ones."

"Is that all?" Dumbledore pressed when Harry didn't go on. Harry shook his head slowly.

"Then I felt it. Like it was happening to me," he explained. "Plus I felt Tom's emotions…and then Remus woke me up and I got out of it. I was only cursed for a few minutes at most," he ended. "Tonks got Snape to come when I went into shock."

"That's true," Dumbledore said softly. He glanced at Harry. "Remus appeared in my chambers early this morning, and when I came out Tonks was just shouting for Professor Snape to come with her."

"I wanted to come back, but Albus said it would be okay," Remus spoke up. Harry nodded.

"I ended up shouting at him a little and he snapped at me some, but I guess he did help me," he admitted. "After I fell in the tub," he added.

"What?!" Remus asked. Harry smiled sheepishly.

"He was being a g—being rude, and I wasn't feeling so good so I tried to roll away from him. Except the edge of the pool was right there so I fell in. He fished me back out though," he added. There was no way he was going to say how Snape had jerked him out by his hair. That would be way to embarrassing, and would only give Snape more reasons to hate him. "It got me out of shock," he added helpfully.

"I was worried there had been brain damage," Remus admitted.

"That's what Tonks said," Harry confirmed. "I think I was just a little bit dazed. Although Snape still thinks I'm brain-damaged anyway," he added thoughtfully.

"Professor Snape, Harry," Dumbledore corrected him.

"Sorry," he said.

"Do you know what potions he gave you?" Dumbledore asked. Harry shook his head.

"They didn't kick in for a bit, and when he made me drink them I was still really out of it," he admitted. "The one was really cold and bitter tasting, though."

"Post-cruciatus Potion," Dumbledore mused. "He probably gave you something else to pull you out of shock."

"That's what I figured," Harry said. "I didn't think falling in the water would be enough to do it."

"There's just one last thing about that," Dumbledore said. "Do you know how Professor Snape received a black eye?"

"Actually, I don't," Harry said honestly. Remus shook his head.

"Don't look at me," he said innocently. Dumbledore smiled and Harry's eyes went wide.

"You don't think—Tonks?" he asked. Dumbledore chuckled. "I guess she was kind of mad at Sn—Professor Snape for the way he was treating me…" he mused. Dumbledore smiled.

"She is rather fond of you, Mr. Potter. She has a very strong mothering instinct," Dumbledore pointed out. Harry groaned.

"Just what I need. Another woman who wants to mother me," he griped. "She and Mrs. Weasley can fight it out. I only need one trying to stuff more food into me."

Remus laughed and hugged him again. Harry mentally noted to have a little chat with Remus about just how 'fatherly' Remus planned on being. He hadn't had any parental figure in his life, ever, and he wasn't sure he could handle a full-time one now. At least not for a while. It was hard to know how to act and react.

"Well, I didn't tell her to hit him," he said. "If she did, good on her."

"I'm afraid it has made Professor Snape rather loathe to help with finding a solution to these visions," Dumbledore commented. Harry folded his arms across his chest stubbornly.

"I don't care," he said. "He told me next time he'd enjoy watching me suffer," he said.

"You know he didn't mean that, Harry," Dumbledore said sternly.

"So what if he didn't?" Harry said. "He still said it."

"I know you've said things you don't really mean, Harry. Everyone does that," Dumbledore said gently. Harry frowned.

"He's my Professor," he said. "He isn't supposed to be my tormentor," he pointed out. Dumbledore sighed.

"These are not normal times, Harry," he said. "Professor Snape has to be cruel to you in his classes and whenever he sees you, or students will become suspicious."

"So that's why he tormented me in Occlumency lessons," Harry snapped, feeling a little upset now. "That's why he just kept prying into my mind and digging through all of my most embarrassing and terrible memories without giving me more than a little clue about what I was supposed to do!"

"I know that Professor Snape made many mistakes last year, Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "I have already had a word with him about his approach to your lessons, but he informs me that you pried while he was absent and looked in his Pensieve."

Harry reddened a little. "I didn't mean to," he said. "And then…my dad and Sirius…" he wasn't going to explain it. He'd promised never to tell anyone, and he hadn't—well, except for Remus and Sirius. But one of the two was dead, and the other had been there. So Remus didn't even count. "I—I tried to apologize," he added.

"I'm afraid that your transgression rather upset him," Dumbledore said. "I understand that it was an unfortunate accident, but Professor Snape has held his grudge against your father and Sirius for a long time. Seeing you makes things much worse for him."

"Well, excuse me for living!" Harry almost shouted. "Like I chose to look like my father, or get born!"

"Harry, please calm down," Dumbledore said. Harry realized he'd stood up, and let Remus pull him back down. "I know that Professor Snape's anger is mostly unfounded. But I want you to be the adult here and learn to live with that. He will be—"

"I'm not doing Occlumency with him!" Harry objected. "No way!"

"I was going to suggest that, eventually," Dumbledore admitted, and then went on at Harry's enraged look, "however, in the meantime, Professor Snape will be working on a potion to block the visions you've been having. There is nothing he likes more than a good challenge to his skills."

"I'll bet," Harry said darkly, wondering what kind of vile potion he'd be forced to drink down.

"Severus has also been able to give us a little information about why you've started having these visions," Dumbledore added. Harry looked up.

"Oh really?" he asked, only a little sarcastically. Dumbledore went on like he hadn't said a word.

"Voldemort has been torturing a lot of prisoners and random muggles lately, and sometimes vaguely mentions tests working or not working. Severus believes that perhaps Voldemort has found a way to open your link more, so that you are forced to become a victim in his tortures," Dumbledore explained.

"He seemed to know I was there, but couldn't see me," Harry said, thinking back to what Voldemort had said in the most recent vision. "He was happy."

"We will have to find a potion to block these visions. They will be of no help to us, and I fear that Voldemort has become so skilled at manipulating your connection that he does not have to show you anything if he does not want to," Dumbledore said. Harry frowned.

"Do you think I could make my connection with him work for me?" he asked. Dumbledore sighed.

"I honestly don't know, Harry," he said. "The problem is that he transferred powers to you, not the other way around. He does carry your blood now, which may give you an advantage. It certainly makes him weaker to attacks from you, physical or mental."

"So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?" Harry asked. "Just sit around and wait for him to drag me into a vision again?"

"You can't stay awake until Severus is finished with his first attempt, so I would advise sleeping at irregular times. Take naps during the day, and try to sleep as little as possible during regular nighttime hours. Hopefully, that will give you a chance to avoid any visions until we have something to protect you from these visions," Dumbledore instructed. Harry sighed, resigned. He did not want another of those visions. Especially if it ended up with him possibly drowning in a tub if someone didn't jerk him out by his hair…

"I'll make sure he doesn't get stuck in a vision," Remus said. Harry felt that arm around him again, protective and firm. Remus was very serious about this guardian thing, it seemed. Harry had no idea what to do about that. He'd just deal with it when it really came up.

"I'm afraid I must be leaving," Dumbledore said. "There is too much to work on right now…I'm sorry to cut my visit short, Harry."

"I'm glad you could come at all," Harry assured him. He stood up and followed Dumbledore, Remus with him as well, and went to the door of the den. Remus suddenly darted forward and opened the door inwards.

Tonks fell forwards, stumbling but somehow keeping her feet. She grinning sheepishly. "Er—hi," she said.

"Don't you know the meaning of private?" Harry asked. Tonks threw him a dirty look.

"I didn't see you staying out of Order business last year when you were supposed to," she told him. "You listened in just like the rest."

"Well—" Harry didn't really have an argument anymore. Tonks looked triumphant. Remus sighed irritably and Tonks looked worried.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just—I heard my name…"

Dumbledore laughed. "I'm sure Professor Snape will find a way to get you back for the black eye, Ms. Tonks," he commented. Tonks blushed and looked down.

"He was being a real rotter to Harry," she said. "I wasn't going to let him just get away with it!"

"I'm sure he'll think twice about insulting me when you're within hearing distance," Harry said to smooth things over. Dumbledore laughed, as did Remus, and they moved to the living room so Dumbledore could floo back to Hogwarts.

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Dinner was served fairly late. Bill, Charlie, Tonks, and Remus were the only ones there besides Harry, but he didn't mind. It was good to know everyone he was eating with, and it was good to know that they were there not because he needed their protection or because of some political reason, but because they really did want to be there.

"Ron and Hermione couldn't come, but I have their gifts," Charlie said, as they finished eating. Harry nodded.

"Dumbledore mentioned something about that," he said. "That's really cool that you could bring their gifts here," he added. "Thanks."

Charlie produced two packages from his coat. They were both small. "They couldn't get you anything big—it had to fit inside my pocket to come with me. So this is what they found for you."

"Nice," Harry said. He took Ron's gift and opened it. He almost fell backwards on the floor as something zoomed upwards. Before he could even register what it was, his had had snapped out and grabbed it out of the air.

"Good grab," Bill said appreciatively.

"It's a snitch," Harry said, surprised. The little gold ball was fluttering between his fingers now, trying to get free. He let it, and once again snatched it out of the air, this time as it tried to make a beeline for the open door to the living room. "Cool," he said.

"Ron thought you might like it," Charlie said. "Don't worry—Dumbledore already checked it over for any curses or whatever. It's clean."

"That's good," he said.

"Oh!" Remus suddenly said.

"What?" Harry asked, alarmed.

"Albus forgot completely to mention it, Harry—but your ban from Quidditch has been revoked. He's still negotiating a more fair punishment for your fight last year, but you're free to play again," he told Harry, who grinned.

"I was hoping I'd be able to play this year," he said. "It was torture without Quidditch last year. I'd rather serve detentions all year than miss Quidditch."

"Hm," Remus said with a smile. "It might come to that. Professor Snape is quite reluctant to let you off with only a light punishment."

"Great," Harry said, rolling his eyes. He refused to let himself worry about it though. As long as he could play Quidditch he would be happy. He put the snitch inside the paper it had come in and wrapped it up again before putting it in his pocket. For a moment he had a flashback to the memory of his father, thinking he was cool while snatching a snitch out of midair. Just as quickly, though, he pushed that thought out of his head. So what if his father had been a show-off? He didn't have to be.

Hermione's gift was amazingly not a book. Instead, it was a small bauble in the shape of a dragon. It was a green color, about the same color as his eyes, and sparkled magically. "I wonder where she found this," he asked out loud. Charlie reached over and picked it up, examining it a moment before handing it to his brother.

"Looks like some sort of emerald mix," Bill said.

"Hungarian Horntail," Charlie added. Harry laughed.

"That's what I had to get by in the Second Task fourth year," he explained. "Of course Hermione would remember that."

He put the stone in his pocket as well. "When you see them, please tell them thanks and that I can't wait to see them at school," he asked. Charlie nodded.

"I'm headed back soon anyway. I'll make sure they both know," he assured Harry.

"Thanks, Charlie," Harry said gratefully. Charlie just smiled.

"So where's the cake?" he asked. "That's what I'm here for."

Tonks shot out of her seat. "Oh no!" she cried. Charlie's smile faded.

"Don't tell me…" he groaned. Tonks practically flew towards the kitchen, running as fast as she could. She still managed to knock a chair over as she fled. Harry laughed out loud.

"At least it's never boring," Remus grumbled. "Socks Snape, listens in on conversations—"

"—walks in on me in the bath—" Harry added.

"—and burns the cake," Remus finished. "There won't be any house left by the time she's through with it."

"Saved it!" came Tonk's shout. Charlie breathed a sigh of relief.

"Well, that's one good thing, at least," he said.

"What's this about her walking in on you?" Bill asked, eyebrow raised. Harry blushed.

"I was just treading water in that big tub and she came in," he explained. "I just about drowned."

Charlie laughed, and so did Bill. Remus frowned a bit, obviously thinking he should perhaps have a talk with Tonks about privacy issues, and then chuckled a little as well.

A few minutes later Tonks appeared, carrying a slightly lopsided chocolate cake with candles all over the top.

"All right," she said. "On three," she told them. Harry wondered what she was talking about.

"What—" he asked. Remus looked at him a little oddly.

"You sing to the person on their birthday," he explained. Harry blushed.

"Oh," he said. "The—er—Dursleys weren't big on that," he commented. Remus frowned, but laughed and forgot about it as Tonks set down the cake and started to sing.

"That," Harry said, when the loud cacophony of voices had died down, "has got to be the best singing I've ever heard."

"Why thank you, Harry," Tonks said with a grin. "Now blow out those candles!" He did, and Tonks glanced at him. "What'd you wish?" she asked him. He blinked.

"What?" he said. "Wish?"

"When you blew out the candles," she hinted, looking a little perplexed.

"Oh!" Harry said. Dudley's parties saved him again as he remembered what she was talking about. "Er—if I told you, it wouldn't come true," he told her. She laughed and turned to start cutting up the cake.

Harry managed one piece of the heavy cake before he was too stuffed to eat anymore. "This is great," he said. "Wow, Tonks."

"You're welcome, Harry," she said, pleased. "I love cooking for you."

"You'll have to fight with Mrs. Weasley if she comes," he warned her. "She won't let someone else do the cooking."

Tonks grinned. "She'll have to get used to it, then," she said with a laugh. "I've gotten pretty good at it now." Bill smiled.

"You'd better watch out, Tonks. Mum's pretty defensive when it comes to Harry," he told her. Before Harry could move, Tonks had mussed up his hair with her hand.

"Aw," he groaned, trying to smooth it down. "You've messed up my hair!"

"I think that's impossible, Harry," Remus commented. "It's a perpetual mess, even if it is a little longer now." Harry just glared at Remus, trying to smooth his hair back down a little.

"Nobody's feeding Harry except for me," Tonks said stoutly, glaring around as if expecting Bill or Charlie to argue with her. Harry sighed again.

"Can't I just feed myself?" he asked plaintively. "I AM sixteen!"

"Sure, Harry," Charlie said. "But then you'd have to eat your own food, Mum's food, and Tonks's," he said. Harry shook his head.

"I'm going to lock myself in my room if your mum comes," he said. "No offense to her," he added quickly. "But I don't want to die of exploding stomach."

Charlie and Bill both laughed uproariously at Harry's distraught expression. "Aw, you'll just have to get bigger to hold it all," Bill told him. Harry groaned.

"Don't talk about food," he whined. His stomach felt much too full, and he was queasy because of it. "I'm never eating again…"

"You'll eat in the morning," Remus said. "You always do."

"Bleah," Harry said. "No food."

"I think it's time to move to the living room, perhaps," Remus suggested. The others got up, and Harry followed them. He eyed the bottle of fire-whiskey that Remus produced curiously, but Remus saw his interested stare. "You can try it, Harry, but you're sticking to butterbeer."

"Oh, come on, Remus," he begged. Remus shook his head.

"I'm not letting you get drunk on your sixteenth birthday, Harry. Especially since I can't let you go to sleep, remember?" Remus told him. Harry nodded. He took the small tumbler of fire-whiskey that Remus handed him, and, unsuspecting, drank it straight down.

It felt like a burning fire down his throat, and he sputtered and coughed up about half of it. When he'd quit hacking, he realized the others were all laughing. His eyes were watering now, and he blinked back the tears as best he could. "You're all nutters," he gasped. "Drinking that stuff!"

"Well, you don't just drink it straight the first time, Harry," Remus said.

"Although," Charlie commented, picking up the bottle and filling his own small glass, "You can." Harry watched with deep respect as Charlie tossed back the entire glass, swallowing down the whiskey without flinching.

"Wow," he said. "I'm impressed."

"Charlie's throat's all calloused over from drinking too much fire-whiskey," Bill said. "And probably cured as well, from all the smoke he breathes working with dragons."

Charlie elbowed his elder brother. "It's not my fault some of us can drink their liquor and others can't!"

"Oh, come on," Remus said with a laugh, filling a short, heavy glass and sitting down in a chair. Harry took another chair, happy to see a warm butterbeer already waiting for him. "Just sit down and drink like civilized wizards, please," he asked. Bill and Charlie glared at each other jokingly for a moment, and then sat down with refilled glasses.

"I'll just have butterbeer," Tonks said, when Remus tried to had her a glass. He nodded and she conjured up her own bottle to drink from. Remus slowly sipped at the fire-whiskey and sighed contentedly.

"This is just how I imagined I'd spend my evenings," he said softly. "Few drinks, a few good friends…a minor wanting to get his first taste of alcohol," he teased. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm not helping anyone get up in the morning," he said. "That's your job."

"We'll see who can't get up in the morning and give them a good wake up," Tonks said, cackling evilly. "How about ice water or maybe mice, hm Harry?"

"I like the mice idea," he said appreciatively. Remus mock-glared at him. "You should go get some sleep, Harry. I'm going to wake you up when I'm headed to bed, and you can stay up a few hours while I sleep."

"Sure," Harry agreed. He really was pretty tired, and he wanted Remus to have a chance just to relax and drink with friends. He hated how it felt like everything Remus did depended on him and what was happening with him. He got up with a stretch and yawned, feeling sleepy. "I'll just catch a few hours."

"G'night, Harry," Tonks said.

"Goodnight, Harry," Charlie and Bill both said. Remus stood up and gave him a brief hug. Way too many hugs, Harry thought uncomfortably. Remus needed to step it back a bit until he got used to it all.

And then of course Tonks wanted to hug him, so he had to let her clamp her arms around him and tell him goodnight…and mess up his hair again… Surprisingly, though, her hug didn't make him feel any more uncomfortable than Remus's. Perhaps he was getting more used to them. Or perhaps it was because she didn't try to squeeze him to death like Hermione sometimes tried. It was more like when Mrs. Weasley had hugged him. It was nice.

"Well, good night, then," he said, after Tonks finally released him. He headed up the stairs drowsily, ready to get a little sleep. The morning and the pain he'd been through were catching up to him…as well as the fact that he still wasn't anywhere near back to full strength. He, according to Remus, 'was still skin and bones.'

He lit the lights in his room and changed into his pajamas quickly, not caring that the door was still open. If Tonks wanted to walk in on him and embarrass him to death, now was the time. He didn't really care. The small bit of fire-whiskey made him feel warm and a little unbalanced, and he welcomed a little rest.

His eyes fell on an envelope on his pillow as he went to remove his glasses. It was hard to see in the dim room, so he picked it up.

'_To Harry Potter,' _it read.

The return name made him shout aloud.

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A/N: I decided cliffies tend to make people want to know what's going to happen next. I know, but you don't, so it works out for me. Keep reading and keep reviewing, and perhaps you'll find out just who is writing to Harry on his birthday. If anyone wants to venture a guess, please be my guest. I'd love to read about who YOU think it might be.

I would also like to take this opportunity to suggest that you read 'Watching,' my other story, if you like this one at all. I think that one better fits my usual style, even if it is much harder for me to write. It's too depressing to work on all the time, but the first section I've read over and over and I still really like it. Heck, for the first couple times I read it, it made me cry a little. Way too depressing. Please review if you do read it!

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Responses to Reviewers:

**Angel74 –** Thank you for such a glowing review, and especially for the advice. I'm still new to this whole thing, and I'm trying to figure out what works best. I'm not really certain how to make the summary more catching…I've changed it a few times now, but if you have any good suggestions I would love to hear them. Ron and Hermione will make an sort-of appearance in an upcoming chapter…perhaps the next chapter…and Harry will certainly be seeing them before going back to Hogwarts. The problem is that any travel between Grimmauld Place and the Burrow could possibly be tracked by death eaters, or something like that. Also, Snape will probably have a little bit of change of heart. He can't stay a cold-hearted jerk forever. He's just not willing to let go right now.

**u-ne-corn – **I'm sorry that you think the Dursleys are a little over the top. They may be, but they've always been a little unpredictable, I think. Harry's request to be taught to become an animagi is just that. A request. It does not mean that he will be skilled at it or that he will have multiple forms or anything like that. As of now, I have two different ideas of how Harry's animagi training will go. We'll see which works best…

**Kjkit – **I try to update every day or so. Be warned now that when I get out of school for the summer I won't have a steady internet connection. This means that updates will become less regular until the end of August. I'll still work hard to update once a week after I get out.

Also thanks to: **Crackerjacknpez, Slrmn82, shadowsfriend, HPBeatles, **and **Imaginaryfriendless **for their reviews. And anyone else that I did not mention.

–Miss Laine


	9. The Letter

Disclaimer: See other chapters.

A/N: Well, Harry's got a mysterious letter. I really seem to have tricked people with this one… Well, this isn't really much of an action chapter, but I thought it was sort of important for Harry. Sorry to disappoint those who thought the letter might be from someone more interesting or whatever, but don't lose hope. Hopefully, people will hang on through this chapter and get ready for what's coming up… Have fun reading, and please R&R! --Miss Laine

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Harry laughed and picked up the letter without any hesitation. It was from Ron and Hermione! This was definitely the perfect way to end his birthday.

He turned the lights up a little more so he would be able to read the decidedly thick letter, and then plopped down in his bed, wrapping the duvet close around his shoulders to stay warm.

The seal on the envelope popped easily under his thumb, and he pulled out the thick stack of parchment. He set all but the top page aside, and started to read:

'_Dear Harry,_

_It's Ron, Harry. Hermione's hanging over my shoulder, demanding to write. We couldn't get you exactly what we wanted for your birthday this year, but we did find things. That snitch was Charlie's, if he didn't mention it. Probably didn't want you thinking you were getting second-hand stuff for your birthday, but he doesn't understand things like that…_

**_Hello, Harry! I'm staying at the Burrow now, so if you get a chance to send a letter to us, just give it to Bill or Charlie. They'll see that we get it… Anyway, the little horntail I found in this cute shop at Diagon Alley. The shopkeeper said that it's made of some sort of odd glass with a little bit of emerald twisted through it. I just thought it was pretty. He said it's supposed to be a good luck charm. I'm not sure how Hungarian Horntails are supposed to be good luck, but there you have it._**

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_All right, my turn again. Hope you like the snitch, Harry. Thought you might like to have one…and hey, I'm Quidditch Captain when we get back to Hogwarts! I got the letter from McGonagall by post a few days ago! _

**_Did you get your OWLs, Harry? I did—and I'm Prefect again! So is Ron!_**

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_Wahoo. Now I'm excited. At least George and Fred won't be around…_

**_It's too bad that you can't be a prefect, too, Harry, though I suppose it'll be easier for you not to be one… Sadly, I suppose that Malfoy's a prefect again. We'll just have to keep an eye on him. I mean, after last year—_**

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_All right, Hermione. Enough about academic stuff and Malfoys. We have all school year to worry about that… We don't have that much we can tell you, Harry. Order meetings are at your place now, so we don't know what's going on any more than you do. Sometimes dad mentions things, but it's usually pretty vague. I hear that your relatives were being right gits to you this summer.'_

Here, Harry had to pick up the next sheet of parchment. He smiled, thinking of Hermione and Ron fighting over the parchment as they tried to write to him. Of course Hermione would have to get her bit in about OWLs, and Ron would rather talk about Quidditch. It was good to have something so familiar, when everything felt so out of place this summer.

The second sheet started in Hermione's handwriting. Obviously, she had started the next sheet and gotten a jump start on Ron.

**_'That must have been awful! I can't believe they'd actually strike you! That's terrible…but please don't tell me that you provoked them, Harry. I know you can have a bit of a temper, but I do not want to hear that you were fighting with them!_**

****

_Well, I hope you did fight with them, mate. Give as good as you get, Harry, that's my motto. Malfoy sure figured that out… Hope you got that stupid cousin of yours…and I never did like your uncle. Seemed like a pretty terrible muggle. Even dad doesn't like him. _

**_Don't even listen to Ron, Harry. He's just grouchy because of all the security around here. …Now don't get guilty feeling, Harry! Weasleys have a long history of opposing dark lords, so they're pretty high on the target list. Ron doesn't like having to check with an Auror before he flies his broom._**

****

_It's just that they're always around. Kind of odd to know that that feeling of someone watching you is real. Because someone is watching. ALL THE TIME! _

**_Back to the point of this letter, Ron. We wanted you to stay in touch with us, Harry, and since we weren't allowed to send you Owls, we thought we'd just write a really long letter for your birthday. _**

****

_We're sitting in my room right now, writing this. Hermione wants to tell you something, hold on a bit—_

**_Ron and I have a teensy confession, though I suppose you already saw it coming. I guess you could say we're, uh,_**

****

_We're going out, Harry. See, not hard to write, is it? I hope this isn't too much of shock to you, Harry, but it just sort of happened. We can talk about it when we get to Hogwarts if you want We're still your best friends, of course…so I hope you don't hold this against us or anything.'_

The third sheet continued in Hermione's writing:

**_'Are you going to be on the Hogwarts Express? I can't wait to see you again!_**

****

_Calm down, Hermione! So Harry, watch out for brown-haired witches. She's probably going to mob you the second she sees you. _

**_We've both been worried about you, Harry. After the end of last year…and summer must seem so long spending it alone. At least now you're with some of the Order and at least a little involved. How is Moony?_**

****

_You have to tell us what you've been up to, Harry. Dad's been hinting about something serious, and we're worried. I mean, he came home the other day and was muttering about curses and visions and something like that. We're just worried that you're in the middle of it, as usual._

**_I hope you're not having visions, Harry. That's terrible if you are. I know you don't like Professor Snape, Harry, but let him help if he can. I'm sure he would do it if Dumbledore asked him to.'_**

****

Harry stopped reading, yawning widely. It was hard to concentrate on the words and the way the letter kept shifting from Ron to Hermione to Ron to Hermione…

He set it aside, planning to finish it after Remus woke him later, and then rolled over onto his side on the bed.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he woke up with Remus shaking his shoulder gently. "C'mon, Harry. Time to wake up," Remus whispered. Harry groaned and sat up.

"What time is it?" he asked groggily. It felt like he hadn't slept at all…but he hadn't had any dreams or visions, either. A definite improvement over the night before.

"Two."

"Two!" he objected.

"Just stay awake until five, Harry," Remus told him. "Then you can go back to sleep and sleep in until nine. Please?"

"Rrr," he groaned, knowing that there was no point arguing at all. "Fine. I wanted to finish reading Ron and Hermione's letter anyway," he agreed. "Will Charlie be able to take a response back to them?"

"I'm sure he will," Remus told him.

"Good," Harry said, reaching for the stack of papers. He'd fallen asleep with his glasses on his face, but he straightened them. "Go get some sleep, Remus," he ordered. "I'll be fine."

"All right, Harry, but come get me if you need to talk about anything at all," Remus agreed. Harry nodded.

"Go. Sleep," he said. Remus sighed and left. Harry wondered if perhaps he was supposed to hug Remus again or something…he wasn't sure how this whole thing worked. He let people hug him, but he didn't really hug people. It just was too awkward for him. If he'd ever tried to hug his aunt or uncle, they would have knocked him flat on his rear, afraid he would spread his 'disease' to them.

In fact, he couldn't remember having any sort of physical contact with any of his relatives since about the age of five, when he'd started taking his baths on his own. Only Dudley had ever come close—and that was just to punch him, so it didn't really count.

He sighed, pulling himself away from those memories, and found his place in the letter. He wanted to finish it before he got to sleep again, and then write his reply.

He found his place and kept reading:

'_I'd watch out for Snape, Harry. He was lurking around once asking strange questions about you…and he muttered something about brain damage to my dad. You aren't brain-damaged, are you?_

**_Ignore Ron's stupid question. Of course you aren't. Dumbledore would tell us something like that. He's being much more honest with us this year, so we know what's going on a little better, and we don't even have to sneak around to learn things. _**

****

_It wasn't a stupid question, Hermione. I just like to be sure of things. Anyway, mostly we were just wondering how you are since last year. We know how rough it must've been for you, and having to be alone at the Dursleys and that…but we're here for you._

**_Wow. Ron said something smart! Of course we're here for you, Harry. We wouldn't be very good friends if we weren't, and besides, we can't get rid of you now. You're stuck with us.'_**

****

Finally, it seemed Ron had gotten to a piece of parchment first, Harry noted. The next one started in Ron's handwriting. Probably they'd been writing back and forth pretty fast…he didn't for one second believe that their squabbling was real. They probably started snogging as soon as they finished the letter…ew. He did not want to think about his two best friends snogging. To him, kissing Hermione would be like kissing a sister, if he had one.****

****

_'Very funny Hermione. Perhaps we should mention something about our OWL results so he'll tell us his?_

**_Oh yes! Can you believe it, Harry? I got Outstandings in everything but my Arithmancy practical. I guess I mixed up two symbols slightly, so the grader graded me down. I think he might have been a little harsh—from what I hear, no one else scored above a P, and I got an Exceeds Expectations. McGonagall said it's plenty good enough to take NEWT level Arithmancy. I also got into the top one percent in all of my written exams and in the Charms practical. _**

****

_My turn. My results are a little more modest, I think. I got an A in History of Magic, Exceed Expectations in Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions, and Outstanding in Defense Against the Dark Arts and Divination. Somehow, I think the graders might be related to Trelawney. They really believed all the bull I fed them. Mostly about you dying. Sorry, mate._

**_Professor McGonagall sent me a letter saying I got the highest scores of the entire fifth year class. That's why I'm a Prefect again, I suppose. I'm just glad I did well, and my parents are so proud._**

****

_My mum figures at least I did better than George and Fred. Or Forge and Gred, whatever they're calling themselves nowadays. Their joke shop is really doing well I guess, and they're doing a little recruiting for Dumbledore on the side. Some certain idiot we all know decided funding those two lunatics would be a good idea…_

**_That's not very nice, Ron. I'm sure Harry knew exactly what he was doing, giving Fred and George that money. Although I'm not sure how he'd know, talking to Fred and George…_**

****

_Professor McGonagall said that Snape's willing to let me into NEWT potions if I take a few extra classes on the side. I guess I'll do it. I still think I want to be an Auror, and Potions is an important NEWT to have for a lot of careers._

**_That's a very mature point of view, Ron. I'm glad you see how important this is._**

****

_And I'll be able to keep on tormenting the git. He'll have to suffer with me in his class for another two years!_

**_All right, Ron. That's not quite as mature. We're running out of parchment Harry, so we're going to have to end this letter soon. Please write back as soon as you can, and have a good Birthday!_**

****

_Same here, mate. Eat lots of cake for me, and tell Charlie he'd better make sure your letter gets to us. We might go nuts if we don't hear from you. Have a good rest of your summer, too, and we'll see you at Hogwarts I suppose. I'm guessing you probably won't be on the train, but who knows?'_

Harry stopped reading there, though there were a few more comments about how they missed him and such. He wanted to write his reply before Charlie had to leave. It sounded like he'd be leaving sometime that day, and he didn't want to miss his chance to get a letter out to Ron and Hermione.

Their letter had been good for him, though. He missed his best friends a lot, and their letter helped him to feel like they were with him, at least a little. At least he knew that they missed him, even if not as much as he missed them.

Reluctantly, he got out of the warm bed in order to dig some parchment out of the desk in Sirius's—his—room. There were a few quills in there as well, and he took one out of the desk. There didn't seem to be any ink, though…

"Ink," he said out loud. "Isn't there any ink?"

There was a loud pop behind him, and he whipped around.

It was Kreacher. The odd and ancient house-elf was holding what looked to be a huge bucket of black ink. "Master Potter wants ink?" the elf asked. Harry shook his head, backing up and wishing that he'd brought his wand with him. He could see it, lying on the covers of the bed.

"No no, Kreacher," he said quickly. "No ink."

"But master said he wanted ink…" Kreacher muttered. "Master wanted to write a letter to Master's filthy friends…"

"Don't call them filthy, and get out of here, Kreacher," he said, at the end of his patience towards the house-elf. "I don't want ink!"

"Foolish master," Kreacher muttered. "Mistress would know what she wanted…but alas, Mistress, Mistress…"

Harry edges around towards the bed, carrying the parchment and quill. "Just please go, Kreacher. I'm fine, really," he said. The house-elf picked up the bucket of ink, then thought about it a moment, blinking large owlish eyes at Harry, who fidgeted nervously, still trying to get to his wand. He didn't feel the least bit safe around the senile creature.

"Ink…wants tea, wants toast…wants ink…." Kreacher muttered. He shook his head, great batty ears flapping lightly. "Stupid master. Foolish master will get himself killed…"

"OUT!" Harry snapped. He didn't want to shout and wake Remus up, but he wanted the stupid house-elf gone.

Kreacher seemed startled by his vehemence and with a crack was gone—but the ink was left behind. Tipped on its side. Spilled all over the rug. Harry sighed. He couldn't do magic to clean the mess up, so he'd have to leave it.

But he could salvage some ink for his letter, he thought. He tipped the bucket back upright, trying to use one of the sheets of parchment to sweep some of the puddle ink back into the bucket. When he finally gave up, his left hand was ink-stained up to his wrist and he had a sheet of soggy parchment. He also had enough ink for his letter. That was all he needed. He went into the bathroom long enough to rinse most of the ink off his hand and throw away the parchment paper, and then hurried back to the bed in order to begin his response to Hermione and Ron's letter.

Back in the warm bed, he started to write out his letter, his brain not working that fast since he was still fairly sleepy. His little run-in with Kreacher hadn't done much to put him in the letter-writing mood, but he was worried that this would be his only chance to write.

He wrote about his summer, leaving out some of the more embarrassing details (like his aunt smacking him repeatedly) that he really didn't think they needed to know, and then went on to how his birthday had went. He even made sure to give Snape his own little paragraph. Just to be sure that Hermione and Ron didn't worry that he had gone insane.

The next time he checked, he'd written over three pages of letter, and he was only getting to congratulating them—Ron, on finally using his brain, and Hermione for actually admitting she liked Ron. Those two had been so thick-headed that it had almost drove him nuts. At least they'd stop staring at each other when they thought no one was looking.

He checked over what he'd written so far, wondering just what all he'd said:

_'Dear Hermione and Ron (Who are now, officially, a couple!),_

_I'm fine. I was 'rescued' from the Dursleys by the Order, and I'm staying at headquarters, which, by the way, now belong to me. I guess Snuffles left them to me in his will…he left Remus a third of his money, me a third, the Order a third…and guess what? He left Snape a knut. _

_A knut that was digested by his pet toad a while back, I guess. I hope Snape appreciates it._

_My summer was probably the worst I've had with the Dursleys, but it didn't get bad until I decided to start talking back to my aunt. Sorry, Hermione. She really started to get on my nerves, and I guess I got a little upset with her. As in I yelled at her and all that. She didn't like that very much. Neither did my uncle, I guess. I shouted some pretty good stuff at him and he got mad at me, and it just escalated from there. _

_I think my aunt was pretty upset about __Dudley__'s run-in with the dementors last year. For some reason, they had a really bad effect on him, and I barely saw him all of the three or so weeks I was there. Come to think of it, I don't remember talking to him more than twice…_

_My uncle was still pretty afraid of me and all that, but my aunt was the one that really went around the bend. Sometimes I really wonder how she could have ever been my mother's sister._

_Anyway, I guess I was a little thin and not feeling so well, but Tonks has been stuffing so much food into me that your mum would be proud, Ron. I'm doing a lot better. Although this morning…er, I guess it was yesterday morning now…I had a bad vision. Snape came because Tonks went and got him, and he gave me some potions to help. Of course, then he started insulting me and such and I accidentally rolled into Snuffle's huge pool-tub thing. Snape dragged me out by my hair._

_That git decided he'd yell at me some more, but I'd recovered by then and I told him to get the bloody hell out of my house. And he did. So I think I won that one. Oh, and Tonks gave him a black eye for being such a git to me. I'm really starting to hate Snape. I think before I may have just disliked him, but now…well, like I told Tonks, if I see him anytime soon I might be tempted to knock his ugly yellow teeth out or something. I think I could at least loosen a few. I've grown a little over the summer, and if I gain any weight at all I'd at least have a fighting chance of getting a few swings in._

_I can't wait to see you guys. You're probably right in that I won't be on the Hogwarts Express. Everything's too dangerous for me. It took them a lot to even get me from the Dursleys to here safely. And by the way, congrats. I'm glad you two finally figured it out! Now I won't have to put up with you two staring at each other all sixth year but NOT GOING OUT. I'll try to stay out of your way on weekends, so you can have some 'alone time.' I don't want to get sick seeing my two best friends snogging. (And don't think I don't know that you are!)' _

"Harry?" Remus's voice interrupted him.

"Yeah?" he asked, setting down the quill. He watched as Remus came in, yawning widely.

"You can get some more sleep now, Harry," Remus told him. "It's five thirty, and I really don't think anyone's going to be getting up before nine or so. Last night Bill and Charlie tried to drink each other under the table."

"Who won?" he asked. Remus laughed a little sheepishly.

"Tonks declared it a tie. I had a bit too much and didn't see who was still sitting at the end of it all. She says that they both fell out of their chairs at the same time," Remus told him. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I thought you said you weren't going to be drunk," he pointed out. Remus smiled.

"I haven't gotten drunk since I was—" Remus stopped himself, coloring a little. "Well, I definitely was underage."

"And you're the one telling me I can't drink," Harry grumbled good-naturedly. He really wasn't that excited about drinking something that tasted like molten lava, though.

"Pretend I didn't say anything, Harry," Remus groaned. "I think I'm going to head back to bed."

"Go," Harry said. "I'm going to finish up my letter so Charlie can take it back to Hermione and Ron, and then I'll go back to sleep."

"All right," Remus agreed, yawning again. Harry watched his guardian go fondly, then turned back to his letter. It was near a good endpoint anyway, so he wrote just a bit about how much he liked his gifts, and told them they'd have to help him with his fan mail.

He just about fell asleep holding onto the quill, but managed to put everything on the bedside table, along with his glasses, before falling back to sleep.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

At breakfast, Harry ate the eggs and bacon that Tonks put in front of him automatically. He hadn't really noticed it, so careful did she do it, but the portions he'd been eating had been growing larger. It felt good to eat this much again, he decided.

She smiled cheerily at him while she served her own plate and sat down, leafing through the paper much as Remus did. Harry laughed when he realized that she'd never really expressed much interest in the paper before. "You know, perhaps you should just tell him you fancy him," he pointed out. She jumped and dropped the paper before falling out of her chair.

He was still laughing when she made it back to her feet, face red. "W-what are you talking about, Harry?" she asked. "Who said I fancied Remus?"

"Oh, come on," he said, rolling his eyes and munching down a piece of bacon. "My two best friends have mooned over each other for almost two years now, and they finally just told each other the truth," he told her. "It works out much easier that way."

Tonks glared at him and sat back down. "I do not fancy Remus!" she stated sharply. Harry shrugged.

"Too bad," he said. "'Cuz I think he likes you too."

"Really?" Tonks squeaked.

"Really what?" came Remus's voice. Tonks once again fell out of her chair with a squeak. Harry started laughing again, even as Remus came in, looking drowsy and a little confused. "What? What did I miss?"

"N-nothing," Harry laughed. "Unless T-Tonks has something to s-share!" he added, stumbling over the words as he laughed harder. Tonks finally made it to her feet for the second time, straightening her robes embarrassedly.

"Nothing. Nothing at all," she said primly. "Would you like some breakfast, Remus?" she asked, changing the subject.

Remus grinned. "Sure," he agreed. Tonks busied herself filling a plate while Remus sat down. He picked up the paper sitting by Tonk's plate, glancing at her a little questioningly. She reddened some more and didn't say anything, although the spoon in the eggs clacked against the china dish rather badly when she set it down. "Did you get your letter written?" Remus asked. Harry nodded, swallowing the eggs in his mouth.

"Yeah," he said. "I thought I'd better get it written now so they'd at least get one letter from me. I don't know when I'll next be able to get one out."

"If Charlie ever gets up," Remus said. "I have to buy more fire-whiskey now. They just about finished all the Ogden's I had."

Tonks set the plate down in front of Remus and sat back down. "I think you put a fair dent in your own supplies, Remus," she commented. Remus blushed a little, looking sheepish.

"Er—this looks good," he said quickly. Tonks rolled her eyes. Obviously, she wasn't so enraptured with Remus that she couldn't tease him normally.

"How much did they all drink?" Harry asked, curious. Tonks giggled.

"Remus here had at least a few glasses. He can't hold his liquor very well, I'd say," she informed Harry. Remus glared at her, then turned to Harry.

"I said I hadn't drank in a while. And I was not drunk!" he added. Harry laughed when Tonks rolled her eyes.

"Bill and Charlie drank much more," she went on. "Of course, they're both used to it, it seems…"

"…And now we're up." A sleepy-eyed Bill came into the kitchen, followed by Charlie, who looked just a little bit better. They both had dark smudges under their eyes, and Bill looked a little green.

"Up for some breakfast, boys?" Tonks asked cheerily. Bill shook his head, but Charlie smiled.

"Sure thing!" he said. Bill just groaned and sat down. "Bill's just never willing to admit that he's not as tough as he thinks," he confided conspiratorially to Harry, who laughed.

Bill just glared. "I'm never drinking with you again, little brother," he informed the shorter red haired man. "Mum would be shocked at how much you drink."

"Let's not forget how much whiskey you drank last night, Bill," Charlie teased, then took a large bite of eggs straight from the serving spoon. Tonks swatted his hand.

"Get a plate!" she objected. Charlie grinned.

"Sure thing," he agreed, snagging her plate. She frowned and humphed and got another plate without arguing.

"You're completely impossible, Charles Weasley!" she snapped. Harry wasn't sure if she really was annoyed or not, but he didn't think she liked Charlie flirting with her so much. Not in front of Remus.

Remus didn't seem to pay either any mind. He was just reading the newspaper, looking totally engrossed in the pages. Harry would have thought the man was oblivious to what was going on around him if not for the very small smile that appeared on his face. Remus was very good at playing ignorant, Harry decided.

"I have that letter, Charlie," Harry spoke up as Charlie finished eating. The young man nodded, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

"Good, good," he said. "I'm headed out of here as soon as I finish, so it's a good thing you got it done, Harry."

"Tell them to write back if they can. I'd like to hear from them again before school starts," he asked. Charlie nodded, and Harry took the letter from his pockets, where he'd put it to keep it close. "And watch out, Charlie. They said they might mob you if you didn't bring back a letter."

"Thanks for the warning," Charlie said, flashing him a grin. He smiled to Tonks and Remus, and then strode out of the room, looking as healthy as if he had not been drinking the night before.

"It'll catch up with him tonight," Remus spoke up suddenly. Bill groaned.

"Not so loud, please," he begged, rubbing his temples. Remus smiled at him sympathetically.

"You look just like I did the first time I got hung-over," he sympathized.

"When was that?" Harry asked curiously. Remus coughed embarrassedly.

"Er—nevermind that, Harry. But Charlie'll have a pretty nasty headache tonight. That's how your dad was when he drank, Harry," Remus explained. Harry grinned.

"I suppose you three did a lot of slightly illegal drinking?" he questioned. Remus smiled.

"A little," he admitted. Tonks rolled her eyes again.

"Are you sure you don't want anything, Bill?" she asked. The young man shook his head.

"No, please no," he begged. "No food."

Charlie poked his head back in the room. "I'll see you all later," he said cheerily. He smirked cheekily at his older brother. "Hope you make it over that hangover, Bill," he teased. Bill didn't even say a word. Just shut his eyes.

"See you later, Charlie," Remus said. "Thank you for coming."

Charlie grinned. "My pleasure," he assured him.

"Thanks for taking that letter for me," Harry spoke up. Charlie nodded and then was gone. A faint whoosh sound told them he'd flooed out of the house.

Bill stayed slouched in his seat while the others finished eating. It was just as Bill was sitting up, looking a little less queasy, that the owl suddenly appeared. "AHHH!!" Bill shouted as the huge gray owl swooped seemingly out of nowhere. It dropped a huge bundle of letters right into the middle of the breakfast dishes, and was gone as suddenly as it appeared. "Damn, bloody, rotten, stupid owl," Bill groaned. He got up abruptly. "I'm going to find someplace bloody quieter to sleep at," he grumbled. Harry watched Bill leave, staggering slightly.

Remus laughed and fished the mail out of breakfast, flicking a few bits of eggs away. "That's Pisces, Dumbledore's mail owl," he explained. "Otherwise you wouldn't get your mail, Harry."

"My mail?" he echoed. He then remembered that from now on he'd be receiving all his mail, none of it with-held. "I don't want any," he said. Remus handed him the thick stack of envelopes.

"Too bad. You've got them. At least look through them and make sure they're all fan mail," Remus told him. Harry sighed and undid the string holding the letters together. He counted them quickly, and was amazed that there were fourteen different envelopes.

"Fan…fan…fan…" he said, as he sorted through them. Halfway through, though, at envelope number eight, he stopped. "Not fan," he said. It was an official letter from the Ministry of Magic. Just what had he done, he wondered?

"What is it, Harry?" Remus asked. Harry pulled the envelope out of the stack and set the others aside.

"From the Ministry," he explained. "It doesn't say what it is. It's from the 'Office of Ancestry,'" he read off the envelope. He popped the seal curiously and pulled out a sheaf of very official looking papers.

"Hmm," Remus said, looking interested and a little concerned. "I believe the Office of Ancestry does send letters occasionally…under certain circumstances… Of course, they usually send things on birthdays or other important dates. Read it, Harry. That might just be junk, but it might be important."

Harry obeyed. He read the first line, the second, the third…the first paragraph. "It's something about me being the last living descendent of...," he said, confused. "Gimme a sec," he added, reading on.

He turned to the second sheet of paper and started reading it. After a little while he looked up, hands shaking slightly. "Remus?" he asked.

Remus looked up sharply at his slightly shell-shocked tone. "What is it, Harry? What is that about?"

"Remus, how well did you know my mum?"

0000000000000000000000000000

A/N: Only a slight cliffie. Now people can guess what this letter's about, since I told you who it's from. I hope I don't lose anyone with where this going. It's just my own nutty idea coming into play, but I checked it against a few sources and it's still perfectly reasonable, if not just a teensy bit far-fetched.

**J.Draven**& **Imaginaryfriendless**** – **sorry. The letter was just Hermione and Ron. But now there's another letter. What could it be about….hmmm. Anyway, thank you for your reviews, and please keep reading and reviewing. It gets more complicated in the next few chapters, which is why updates are slowing down.

**Crackerjacknpez**** – **Thank you for your steady reviews. It's great to know that I can count on you to review my chapters. Thanks again.

**Lilypotterfan****, shadowsfriend, Oblivion13 – **thank you for your wonderful (blushes) comments. I will keep updating as much as I can. Just remember I lose my internet connection on May 6, so updates will be a little further between. If you can survive to August on less updates, then you'll get the rest of it then. Because I'll be writing like mad over the summer, don't worry.

**Ash Knight – **I _do _want to hear your comments. Please! Tell me whatever you want to. I really do read my reviews, each and every one of them, and if the comments really do make sense, I do take them into account. So please don't leave out your comments! I want to hear them!

I think that's just about everyone I needed to include…if I forgot you, don't take it personally. Your review might not have shown up on the list yet, or I may just be stupid and blind and have forgotten you. --Miss Laine


	10. The Other Letter

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does. Not me. Her.

A/N: I'm slowing down just a little with writing chapters. The thing is, in two weeks school's out for the summer. That means I have terrible finals coming up and lots of projects due before then. And over the summer I won't be able to update often at all…sniff, sniff…so hang in there, please! By the time I get back from summer break, I'll have the entire thing finished and I'll update every day. I'll try to update like once a week or every two weeks, but that's the best I can promise.

By the way, Numbal, there is a nice long response to your comments at the end of this chapter. They're not meant to be harsh if they come across that way. I'm still plenty glad that you reviewed at all, and I do understand your concerns. Thanks.

00000000000000000 Chapter 10: The Other Letter 0000000000000000

Harry's hands shook as he set the sheets of paper down. "How many years did you know my mum?" he asked. Remus's brow wrinkled as he thought.

"I'd say for seven or eight years, Harry," he answered. "What is this all about, Harry?"

"Read it," Harry said, handing over the top sheet of paper. His voice was laced with bitterness. "This was supposed to come yesterday, on my birthday…but the Ministry, being what they are, must have sent it out late."

Remus took the papers and watched him slowly read them, going though the first paragraphs quickly.

_"'Dear Mr. Harry James Potter,'" _he read out loud_, "'According to our policies, as your parents are deceased, these documents are to be sent to you. We have a policy that states that, whereupon the last or youngest living member of a family reaches the age of sixteen, they take charge of their family ancestry. Keeping accurate records is important to us, and we hope that you do indeed agree with the records that have been kept._

_In case you do not know this already, the Office of Ancestry in the Ministry automatically records all marriages and children in a perfectly anonymous and confidential system. These records are not admissible as evidence in cases of extra-marital affairs nor any criminal cases. Their use is purely for determining inheritances in the absence of a will, and for record-keeping purposes. _

_The papers enclosed include a family tree, dating back six generations is most cases, and some notes that the file made concerning any remarriages, deaths, separations, or adoptions. Please refer any questions or comments to the Office of Ancestry, Ministry of Magic.'"_

Harry saw Remus frown, obviously wondering what he'd gotten so upset about. He watched Remus move on to the second paper. The family tree. The one that had made him very, very worried in a short space of time.

Remus's eyebrows suddenly shot up, and Harry saw the man's eyes dart across the page several times. He looked very surprised. Harry decided that Remus definitely did not know about this. He hoped desperately that Dumbledore did not, either. If he did…then he could never trust the old man again. Harry watched Remus closely as he handed back the papers.

"So is there any reason, Remus, why my mother's father would have the last name of Riddle?" he asked.

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Tonks immediately dropped the dish she was carrying into the kitchen. It shattered on the floor, but no one noticed. Remus looked worried, and Harry was frowning. He went through the family tree Remus had returned to him again. Supposedly, his grandfather was someone called Jonathan Riddle, later renamed Jacob Evans. With a father named Thomas Riddle Senior. Just like Voldemort's father. And considering that Thomas Riddle's other son was named Thomas Riddle, Jr, it didn't look good.

"So is this real or is it all a fake?" he asked Remus, who didn't respond right away. "Remus?"

Tonks pulled the family tree out of his hand and seemed to skim it. Harry sighed, waiting for the inevitable moment…and she dropped the papers all over the ground, sputtering. "Is this some sort of joke?" she asked aloud. Harry sighed.

"That's what I'd like to know," he admitted. Remus eyed him.

"Let's read through the rest of it. I'd like to believe this is some sort of elaborate hoax, but I'm afraid it might be real. The Office of Ancestry is little known, really. It runs itself…I doubt anyone tampered with it… And your mother never did look like her sister…I just hadn't really thought that it could be because they were only half-sisters," Remus said.

Harry nodded, picking up all the papers. He was doing his best to stay calm, but it wasn't really working. The implications of what these papers were saying was too much. Why did everything have to happen to him?

Tonks wasn't helping either. She was gaping like a fish and pale as a ghost, standing there with her hands still out in front of her. "Sit down before you annoy Harry," Remus asked. Tonks obeyed without a word, while Harry passed her a few papers, gave a few to Remus, and kept the rest for himself.

He read through the pages he had quickly. First, he checked the family tree again. His grandmother on his mother's side, Rose Williams, had married someone named George Cullins first. And so his aunt—well, half-aunt—was born. George Cullins either died or left or something, because then Rose married Jacob Evans. Who had been Jonathan Riddle. Tom Marvolo Riddle's older half-brother. And then they had Lily. His mother.

Hopefully, the other pages would say something useful about this…

"Listen to this, Harry," Remus spoke up gravely. Harry stopped looking at the papers and turned to Remus, who was holding a sheet of paper with slightly trembling hands. "These are the notes that the file registered about Tom Riddle Sr."

Remus cleared his throat nervously, hands still shaking. Finally, the man had to set the paper down in order to read it clearly. "_'Jonathan Phillius Riddle, given up for adoption at the age of one by Tom Riddle Senior. Left at orphanage, where name of Jacob Harrison Evans was officially given to him. Married Rose Williams, mother of one daughter at the time.'"_

Harry sighed. "So it's really true," he said, voice flat. This could not be happening to him. "So what?" he said, a little bitter sounding. "Tom's my…half-grand-uncle? Does Dumbledore know about this? Perhaps I should just go join my fami—"

"We're your family, whoever your blood relations are," Remus said sharply. "And if Albus had any inkling of this, he would have said something. I've got to go show these to him now. This could change a lot of things, if they're true."

"Great," Harry said. He didn't care anymore. This was all too much like a dream. It couldn't possibly be true…but then again…no. He wasn't going to think about it. About his mother being Voldemort's niece…no! "Go ahead," he said vacantly. "I—I'm going to go lie down I think," he said.

"I'll wake Bill up, if I can find him," Remus said. "Tonks, could you please make sure—" Harry didn't hear any more of what he said. He'd already gotten up from the table, clutching just the envelope the letter had come in, and walked out of the room. He really needed to lie down.

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He sat on his bed—Sirius's bed—for hours. He did not want to get back up. He had wrapped the duvet around his shoulders tightly, feeling comforted by the warmth and the soft scent of that certain soap. He really wished he had some hot tea or cocoa to drink, but he was afraid to ask for anything out loud, unwilling to have Kreacher show up. He couldn't deal with that disgusting and disturbing creature right now.

In his hands he held the glass lily. He stared at the three-dimensional flower somehow suspended in the glass and sighed. It was a perfect white flower. Pure and innocent…

His mother had always been sort of an inspiration to him. His father as well, though since last year he just couldn't seem to feel as much respect for his father. Not after what he'd done…

But his mother. She had been perfect. Everyone said so. Kind, smart, loving, considerate, beautiful, sweet…she had been everything. She had probably even loved her sister—half-sister, Harry told himself bitterly—though it was obvious that Petunia had hated Lily. Considering the way his aunt had treated him, he doubted that Petunia had even been a bit saddened by Lily's death.

He didn't know how this would affect things, but he did know that it meant his mother was no longer unaffected. She had been dragged into his messed up life now, dragged through the dirt to come out a Riddle. A Riddle! Her uncle, the darkest wizard in centuries probably. And no one knew.

Someone should tell Voldemort to attack the Office of Ancestry, he thought angrily. That was one place that could be destroyed, and Harry would be the better off for it. If the stupid letter had not been delivered to him, then he would not have had to find out that he was actually related to the monster that he was supposed to kill. It didn't make any sense.

He didn't want to be a murderer, but he would've felt less bad about killing if it was just Tom Riddle he was killing, a monster that had murdered his parents. Probably Voldemort didn't know that Lily had been his niece. He'd just killed a witch that had opposed him.

And although Harry was pretty sure that he could find enough hate to kill Voldemort, he wasn't so sure he could kill his grand-uncle, no matter that his grandfather had only been half-related to Tom Riddle. His only living relative besides the Dudley and Petunia. And they were about as related as Voldemort was to him.

Thinking that scared him. It was easier to say Tom Riddle was his great-uncle than Voldemort. He hoped this never got out at school. Dumbledore would probably insist that it be kept absolutely secret, hopefully. He could just see the reaction if this ever got out.

He wondered what Voldemort would do if he found out. Come and try to recruit him? Or just try to kill him again? He knew Voldemort had hated his father for abandoning his mother—would he feel at all bad about betraying Harry, his family?

Harry snorted. Voldemort feeling guilty about something was about as likely as Draco Malfoy professing his undying love for Hermione. Some things just weren't possible. Voldemort would probably laugh at the irony of it all before blowing up a school full of little children or something. That was the way he seemed to work.

If this was all real, too, it would explain a few things, Harry realized. His dark hair could be partially from his mother's side of the family, not just from his father. His green eyes could be from the Riddle blood in him. If he remembered right, Tom Riddle, before he became Voldemort, had had light eyes. They could have been green. Like his. Like his mother's. He wondered if his grandfather had had green eyes.

He rubbed the smooth glass with his thumbs, trying to find some comfort in the warm glass. He had not noticed before, but there were a few curls of red, like tendrils of blood, around the lily. So it was not as perfect as he had thought…not as white and pure…

His mother was supposed to be the pure and perfect image. The one he could think of when he wondered if his parents were really so selfless and wonderful as most said they were. But, like the lily, she wasn't pure. She wasn't perfect. You just had to look a little closer, and there it was…the imperfections… Even Snape had had nothing bad to say about his mother.

Well, now he would. He'd have plenty bad to say about her. Lily Evans. With Uncle Voldemort. Uncle Dark Lord, Uncle Murdering Arsehole. The Girl-Who-Didn't-Know-Her-Uncle-Was-A-Murderer. Who was killed by her own uncle. No matter that neither knew that the other was related…Snape would use this for everything it was worth. He knew Dumbledore would tell Snape. He had to. He sure as hell wouldn't ask if that was all right with him. Snape the spy. Snape, whose first love was potions, and second was torturing Harry.

It was bloody unbelievable that this was happening to him. Couldn't he just live with the whole kill-or-be-killed thing? Did he really have to have all these other distractions? Couldn't he just have one day, one single damn day, where everything was just normal? The closest he'd gotten this summer was sitting in his room starving. That was slightly normal, although usually the sitting and starving took place in a cupboard…

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There was someone knocking on the door of his room. "Who is it?" he called angrily, rousing himself from his thoughts.

The door pushed open, and Tonks came into the room, looking concerned. For once, Harry realized, she looked herself—blonde hair, small stature, pretty but not startling face. "Harry?" she asked. He eyed her, not wanting to even attempt any sort of facial expression. "Look—do you want to talk about this at all?"

"No." The word was out of his mouth before he'd thought about it properly.

Tonks sighed, looking scared and worried and upset. Harry just wished she'd say something or go away. "I read the rest of those papers, Harry. I think it's genuine."

"I know," he said. Deep in his gut he'd felt that the papers were right. The solution they provided was perfect. Well, perfect in its own dark, twisted way. Perfect like the killing curse…

"Harry, it's not healthy to brood over something like this," she said gently. Harry frowned, feeling angry now.

"So what?" he asked. "Like anyone understands…"

"Well, Draco Malfoy's my cousin," Tonks said casually. "I'm pretty closely related to a lot of death eaters."

Harry laughed bitterly. "Tom Riddle's not on that list, though," he pointed out.

Tonks came closer, finally sitting down on the bed. She leaned against the post, just like Remus always did. "Well, no," she admitted slowly. "He's not. But that's the thing, Harry. Just because he's related to you somehow doesn't mean anything."

"Says you," he snapped. He was still angry. "Dumbledore said I was a Parsletongue because Tom transferred that to me. But I suppose now it's more likely that I was born with it. That I inherited it. You know, I bet if things had worked out differently I _would _have been the one opening the Chamber of Secrets second year."

"Harry, please," Tonks said gently. Harry jerked away from her when she tried to touch his leg. "Remus is sorting this out with Albus right now. It'll all work out just fine."

"How do you know that?" he demanded, angry. "Everything just gets more complicated every day. All I want is one damn thing to get a little better."

"It will, Harry," she told him. "This'll all get better in the end."

"And when's the end?" he demanded. "A year from now? Ten years from now? After my friends are dead? After I'm dead?"

Tonks pushed away from the post and scooted closer to him, and though he made a show of avoiding her attempts to put her arm around his shoulders, he was only resisting half-heartedly. Somehow, he missed the hugs and comfort he had gotten from Remus recently. He still tried to pull away, but just ended up sitting stiffly, arms crossed on his chest, with Tonks's arm around his shoulders.

She pulled a little, forcing him to lean against her, and then she rested her chin on his head as he let his head rest on her shoulder. "Harry, please don't talk like that," she said softly. "You're not going to die. Neither are your friends."

Harry felt like laughing or crying. A little bit either way and he'd do one of the two. Tonks didn't know the prophecy. Neither can live while the other survives… "I can't believe my mother was killed by her uncle…," he said.

Tonks squeezed him closer, and he felt himself comforted by the contact. He was starting to get used to this whole hugging thing, he realized distractedly. "Oh, Harry," Tonks said softly. "Please don't dwell on this right now," she asked him.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" he asked. He was staring ahead, at the painting of the forest on the wall. A wolf was wandering through the trees right now, hunting. A rabbit darted out of the picture and showed up down the wall in a grassy field painting. "Does this mean that Tom Riddle's my closest living relative?" he asked suddenly. That was almost too much. Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, Voldemort, his closest living relative. He didn't know if half-aunts ranked closer than grand-uncles.

"I don't know," Tonks admitted. "Dumbledore could figure it out. He will figure it out."

She sounded so sure. It reminded him of Mrs. Weasley, and how she'd comforted him after the Third Task. He laughed suddenly, and Tonks stiffened. "Harry?" she asked, alarmed.

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "I—that night, when Voldemort came back, he tied me to his dad's gravestone," he explained. Although he had done the interview with Skeeter, he still didn't feel that comfortable talking about that night.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Tonks said softly when he stopped.

"That wasn't why I laughed," he said abruptly, suddenly feeling irritated at her sympathy. "I was just laughing at the fact that I was tied to my great-granddad's gravestone." He sighed. He felt a little better. Not much better, but certainly better than before Tonks had come. "Thanks," he said.

"Sure, Harry," she said. "I'm just glad I could help you out." She hugged him tighter again, and he relaxed a little. Tonks might be clumsy and loud and annoying sometimes, but she really did have a good heart. Perhaps she was right. Perhaps it didn't matter in the end who you were related to. She certainly would never join Voldemort.

A soft creak sound from the door pulled him out of his thoughts again. He turned red as he saw Remus standing in the door, golden eyes watching him. He expected Tonks to shoot off the bed, red and embarrassed, but she didn't. Her arm stayed where it was, and Harry craned his head to see that she was giving Remus a tight and tense smile.

"Well?" she asked. Harry pushed himself up a bit, feeling the worry come creeping back. Remus sighed.

"Albus is coming," he said. "He needed to collect a few things for confirmation of this…he wasn't planning on performing any tests of this nature any time in the near future."

Harry's heart twisted again. What would Dumbledore say? Would he still want him as a grandson after this? Dumbldore, who had opposed Voldemort since the beginning…want his enemy's grand-nephew as a grandson? It was not even imaginable. "Harry, it's going to be all right," Remus's voice broke into his worried thoughts. Harry blinked. He wished people would stop saying that.

He felt Tonks let him go, sliding off the bed to stand again. He didn't care. He wanted to be alone now. He just wanted to try to sort this out, to wrap his brain around it.

Tonks was talking softly to Remus, who kept shooting worried glances Harry's way. Harry frowned. They were talking about him. Again. Like when they'd thought he was brain damaged. He shifted. "I'm still here, you know," he said, annoyed. Remus reddened slightly and Tonk's jumped.

"Sorry, Harry," Remus apologized. "We're just worried about you. You never get a break."

"At least you agree with me," he muttered grumpily. "Look—could I just be alone for a while?" he asked. "I just want to think about this on my own."

"Sure, Harry," Remus agreed. "We'll be downstairs if you need us at all. And we haven't told Bill anything, Harry. That's your decision."

"Thanks," Harry said, grateful for that one thing. At least they would respect what little privacy he had left… He watched Remus and Tonks leave, then got out of the bed.

The photograph was still in the sock drawer. He pulled it out, his eyes on the photographic image of his mother instantly. She was smiling and pretty, red hair fluttering a little and green eyes sparkling. She was perfect. Happy and nice. How could she be related to such a monster? What would she say if she knew it?

"You were supposed to be perfect, mum," he said softly. Well…perhaps she still was. It wasn't her fault, certainly. But he doubted that everyone would understand that.

The photograph-Lily just smiled and waved at him before reaching over to muss up James Potter's hair.

He couldn't stand to look at those happy people any longer. He'd never been that happy…not even when they'd won the house cup, or the Quidditch cup, or anything. Maybe when he'd rescued Ginny…he'd been so relieved to see her wake up. That would have been the first death he'd remember witnessing, and he was glad it had not really happened until his fourth year. He would have been happier if he hadn't had to see anyone at all die, but he was not destined to be that lucky.

The photograph went back into the sock drawer. Eventually he hoped he'd be able to put it up somewhere without having to hide from it. But not now. Not after this.

He roamed around the edges of the room, fingering Sirius's old things. The comb on the dresser, the mirror tilted up like he'd been looking in it just minutes before, the one shirt still lying crumpled in the corner of the room. Kreacher of course could not be trusted to clean anything at all, and Harry supposed Remus hadn't wanted to touch anything.

He went back to the bed after a quick trip to the loo. He felt unhappy and abandoned. It was ridiculous, he knew. His friends would not abandon him over this. _Because they wouldn't know, _a traitorous little part of his brain told him. He pushed that thought away. Remus and Tonks knew and they didn't care. They still liked him.

"Bloody Tom Riddle," he said out loud. "Bloody stupid git." He flopped back onto the pillows. He'd spent most of the day already in this bed, but he didn't want to leave it. It was safe and familiar. It was like having Sirius. The Sirius he knew…not the one that tormented other boys for fun, that laughed along with a conceited, stuck-up James Potter. This was the Sirius that worried that Snape was hurting him. The one that stood up for him and listened to him.

Like Remus did now…he felt tears in his eyes now, and swiped them away. He didn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He wasn't injured, he wasn't starved or in agony. There was no reason at all to cry. None. "Stupid, Potter," he said out loud. The words echoed in the room. "Bloody stupid. Crying and carrying on over something that can't be helped."

"That's a very wise observation," a gentle voice said from the doorway. Harry started, almost rolling off the bed in surprise. Dumbledore stepped into the room a moment later, and Harry breathed out.

Then, he did fall off the bed when Dumbledore's companion came into the room. He hit the floor hard on his hip, the duvet cascading down over him.

He heard Severus Snape snort as he tried to get back up. Finally, he made it back to his feet, face red as he shoved the duvet back onto the bed. "Professor Dumbledore," he said in greeting. He just gave Snape a glare, but when he saw the man's face he flinched. Snape was pale, and he almost looked…afraid. Harry did not want to see that look on anyone's face when they found out. Even if it was Snape.

"I'm glad that you understand that this cannot be helped," Dumbledore said softly. He smiled and flicked his wand, creating three overstuffed chairs. "Please sit, Harry. We need to discuss a few things."

"Why is _he _here?" Harry demanded, glaring at Snape. "I told him last time to stay the hell out of my house," he growled. Dumbledore looked slightly saddened.

Snape actually flinched away slightly. Dumbledore frowned a second, then smiled again.

"Professor Snape is here at my request, Harry. He is skilled with lineage potions, and I am not," Dumbledore explained. Harry frowned this time.

"I don't want him here," he said. "He's not welcome."

"Nevertheless, I am," Snape snapped, obviously recovering himself. Harry narrowed his eyes angrily.

"I told you to stay out of my house," he said angrily. "I've put up with you at school. I won't do it here!" Dumbledore sighed.

"Please, Harry," he said pleadingly.

"No!" he snapped, not caring that it was Dumbledore…and that he had just recently apologized for getting angry at the end of fifth year. That didn't matter. Snape was not supposed to be here. "He insults me, goes through my memories, and takes advantage of his position," he snarled. "He can do it at school all he wants, but he won't do it here!"

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly. "Has Severus ever told anyone anything he's seen during Occlumency lessons?"

Harry snapped his mouth shut, thinking. "No," he finally admitted.

"And did you ever tell anyone what you saw in his pensieve?" Dumbledore continued.

"I told Remus…and…Sirius," he admitted. Snape shifted in his seat, and Harry sent him his strongest glare. He was sort of hoping that his hate would cause the pale man to burn in flames, but it didn't seem likely.

"Who were both there," Dumbledore said. "So you really haven't told anyone," he pointed out.

"Well, no," Harry said. "I said I wouldn't."

"You told your werewolf friend," Snape put in icily.

"Stop acting like a child, Severus," Dumbledore reprimanded sharply. Harry was actually surprised and more than a little gratified at the headmaster's tone. "And I except a little more understanding from you, Harry, please," he went on. Harry frowned. What was there to understand? Snape treated him like rubbish. That wasn't his fault.

"If he stops treating me like I'm dirt, I might," he growled. "He didn't do a damn thing when Voldemort tried to take me again."

"You know he couldn't, Harry," Dumbledore said placatingly. "It would have been too suspicious."

"Then he should have gotten the hell out of there!" Harry exploded. He glanced at Snape, who was staring back just as hatefully. "He's half the reason I got so upset!"

"I have already spoken with Severus," Dumbledore said.

Snape shifted uncomfortably. "I—I should not have said some of the things I said that night," he admitted. Harry knew he was just doing it because Dumbledore made him, but it wasn't like he could argue the point into the ground right now. He needed to build up a little strength and energy. Then he'd surprise Snape good.

He suddenly made it his summer goal to corner Snape somewhere and at least get one good punch in. James Potter the Prat didn't matter. If Snape had acted anything like he did now back then, he deserved it. No better than Draco, really… "Apology not accepted," he said out loud.

"Harry…" Dumbledore pleaded. Harry relented a little. He still wasn't happy with Snape even being in the house, but it looked like he was going to have to live with it. And the longer he argued about it, the longer Snape would be in his house.

"Fine." Harry settled back into the chair again but didn't stop glaring at Snape, who didn't look at him again.

Dumbledore regarded him a moment over his spectacles, and then drew the infamous papers from his robes. "You should have received these yesterday, Harry," he said. "Of course, the Ministry being what it is, even automatic services do not work as they should. Although usually papers such as these are of little importance."

"Are they accurate, sir?" Harry asked. He needed to get confirmation from Dumbledore, even he'd already convinced himself.

Dumbledore unfolded the papers, fingering the family tree. "They seem to be," he admitted. "But they could have been fooled…that is why I wish to use a lineage potion to find the truth. If I had ever imagined that something like this could have occurred, I would have done this…but I just assumed that Jacob Evans had parents with last name Evans. He was listed as a muggle in Lily's school records, so of course we didn't think anything of it."

"What does the potion do, sir?" Harry asked. He was too tired of all this to care about some stupid school file.

"This potion is usually used with small children if the paternity is in question. The potion is a little like Polyjuice, Harry, in that it makes your face shift to the ancestor in question's. Professor Snape assures me that he will be able to tweak it to show the face of your grand-uncle, since he is the relation in question," Dumbledore explained.

Harry nodded, though he definitely did not want to take any potions that Snape had made. And he also didn't want to do anything that would result in him looking like that young man that had been in the Chamber of Secrets. The young man with the hard eyes and the sneer…and the hate and power and anger… "Okay," he said weakly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Snape sneer and pull a medium-sized flask from his robes.

"I will need your blood, Potter," Snape said tersely. Harry frowned.

"No."

"Harry," Dumbledore said warningly. Harry sighed and stood up. Remember, he told himself, the faster this goes, the faster Snape's gone.

"What do you want me to do?" he asked. Snape stood up, and Dumbledore did as well, banishing the chairs with a flick. Snape glanced at him with glaring, hate-filled eyes.

"Hold out your arm," he said. Harry automatically held out his right arm. Snape shoved back his sleeve past his elbow, and Harry flinched slightly, remembering the last time he had given blood…from this very arm…_blood of enemy…_

Snape's pallid, thin fingers traced up the inside of his arm, feeling for the vein. Harry wanted to pull away from those icy fingers. Snape touching him, even just his arm like this, was disgusting and irritating. He didn't want to be within ten feet of the man.

The fingers rested a moment on the white scar drawn across his elbow before wrapping around his arm at the joint. Snape set the flask down on the dresser next to him, then produced a small, sharp knife from his pockets. Harry flinched just slightly at the sight, the feeling of deja-vu almost too much for him to take.

He realized Snape had felt him flinch and involuntarily blushed when the man glanced up at him before pressing the knife to the slightly-raised vein. Harry bit the inside of his cheek slightly and watched the blood well up behind the knife's blade as it sliced through the skin.

Snape dropped the knife on the dresser quickly before picking up the flask again. He took his hand off Harry's arm and the blood welled up stronger. A large bead of red formed on his arm, swelling…before Snape could catch it in the flask it rolled, drawing a red line down Harry's arm to his wrist. Then, the cold flask pressed against the cut and several dribbles of blood slid into the open mouth of the container.

Before any more blood could well out, Dumbldore had waved his wand, healing the small cut in an instant. Harry drew his arm back towards his body, left hand covering the scar on his elbow self-consciously. He hated that scar…whenever he saw it, it reminded him and he saw it all again. Not Voldemort's rise…but Cedric's death. Lying there, eyes staring up…

He shook himself out of those thoughts quickly, feeling a small shiver, and watched Snape slowly swirl the potion around a few times. Then he hesitated. "I will need something of Lily Evan's for this to work. Hair would be best, but even a belonging should work. One that can be destroyed."

Harry hesitated, and Dumbledore watched him. "Perhaps you have something of hers, Harry?" he asked. Harry sighed and went over to the bed, pulling the glass-encased lily out from under his pillows, where he'd put it when Tonks had shown up. It was the only thing he had, and it was closest. Meaning less of Snape being around if he got this done now. The lily was still slightly warm, and he held it tightly a moment. He did not want to give it up. Even for this…

"I don't want it destroyed," he said as he handed it over to Dumbledore. He did not look at Snape. He had a feeling he would want to snatch the glass trinket back from Dumbledore and throw it at Snape's head if he did. "I—Remus gave it to me," he confessed. "He said he gave it to my mum when they were in school."

His eyes didn't leave the glass object as Dumbledore examined it, turning it over in his wizened old hands a few times. Harry watched the old wizard stop turning the trinket and examine it more closely. "I do not think I will have to damage it more than minimally, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You may not have seen it, but there are a few of your mother's hairs infused into this. I should be able to extract one, but the glass might crack…"

Harry nodded. So the red streaks had been hairs. Not imperfections of the flower…he had been too depressed and dark-thoughted at the time to care what they were. They had looked like streams of blood to him… "Go ahead," he said. "It's all right if you can't keep it from getting damaged," he added.

Dumbldore nodded and pointed his wand at the glass lily held in his other hand. He said a few soft words, then pressed his wand to the glass. It seemed to slip into the glass like a knife into butter, and when Dumbledore pulled the wand tip away from the glass, a single hair clung to its end.

Just as Harry thought the glass would come out undamaged, there was a sickening crack. There was now a white fault line running through the glass. Dumbledore sighed and let Snape pluck the hair from the end of his wand before handing the trinket back to Harry, who examined the crack with small frown. "I am sorry about that, Harry," Dumbledore apologized. Harry smiled as best he could, knowing it would look false to Dumbledore.

"It's all right," he said. "It's still in one piece."

"I know you have precious little of your mother's—"

"Except her genes," Harry muttered. Dumbledore sighed, and didn't respond. Harry couldn't bring himself to look at the old wizard, knowing he would see sadness and perhaps a little worry in those sparkling eyes. Instead, he watched Snape slip the hair into the vial.

"I'm not sure how it will work," Snape admitted. "It should just run through the male side of the Evans family…or Riddle family, I suppose," he corrected himself. Harry heard the slight catch in the man's voice. He was afraid. Good.

Harry knew why. If this worked the way he thought it was going to, he was going to look like Voldemort for a few moments. But would it be the Voldemort of now, or the one of sixteen? Either would be a shock to Snape, he supposed…he was the only one that had seen Tom at sixteen in the recent past. Nothing would faze Dumbledore, he was sure, but Snape was another matter. Everything seemed to make him angry, enraged, or otherwise upset…

The potion fizzed in the flask, and Harry gulped. If this tasted anything like Polyjuice, it would be very hard to convince himself to drink it. Snape swirled it expertly a few times while Harry and Dumbledore watched, then turned towards them. "Here," he said. "You must drink most of it for it to last long enough to reach back to your grand-uncle," he said. Harry nodded and took the flask from Snape without a word.

It smelled odd, and he got the feeling that it would not taste good. At least he couldn't really see it, he reassured himself. He tilted it slightly, and then drew a breath before putting the flask to his lips and knocking it back. It couldn't be any worse than fire-whiskey, he told himself fatalistically.

He was perhaps wrong. This tasted. The fire-whiskey had burned. This…it was like old socks and bad eggs, like warm blood and rotten moss…he gagged, forced himself to keep swallowing…when his hands faltered, a cold pair gripped his painfully and forced the flask to remain at his mouth, the foul taste permeating his mouth…

He could tell when it hit his stomach…it cramped up immediately, and his knees buckled.

He fell into a chair that Dumbledore must have suddenly created. The flask was still pressing to his mouth, potion still pouring mercilessly into his mouth.

The metal rim clacked against his teeth as he gagged again, trying to pull away. "Potter," Snape growled. Harry tried to pull away even more. Snape…it was Snape forcing him to drink this, to keep on swallowing this foul mess rather than have it soak into his mouth…

Finally, he couldn't take it any more. He jerked away sharply. Mud-colored sludgy potion sloshed onto his clothes as he toppled out of the chair onto his knees, breathing hard. "Don't even think about throwing that up, Potter," Snape snarled. "You will ruin it all if you do…"

"Now, Severus, have a little faith," came Dumbledore's soft voice. "Harry, just listen to me," the man went on. "Breathe and just try to relax."

Harry pressed his hands against the floor, wiling himself to keep from throwing the potion back up. He did not want to make a mess in front of Snape. Snape. The sudden hate overrode the nausea. He felt a burning in his stomach, but he was not sure if it was the potion any more. Snape. Snape, who hated him, derided him, picked at him…

And then the nausea was completely gone, and he got his legs back under himself just as the potion took effect. It felt just like Polyjuice Potion. His skin was crawling…but just in his head and neck. It felt like ants were under his skin, crawling around and nibbling at his skin. It felt like needles rolling across his skin, itching… "It is working, I think," Snape said curtly. Harry blinked, wanting to rub his face but forcing himself not to touch his skin.

He kept his eyes on Dumbledore instead. Watching. This would be his indication of whether the potion did its job or not. The expression on Dumbldore's face would change…

There was a funny lurch in his throat, and suddenly all sensations ceased. "This would be Jacob Evans—Jonathan Riddle," Dumbledore said softly. Harry felt tempted to go to a mirror, but he didn't think he could stand. Dumbledore seemed to sense his wish and conjured a small hand mirror.

The man staring out of the mirror had dark hair and hazel-green eyes. His facial structure was fairly close to Harry's, though his nose was longer and his cheekbones narrower. "My grandfather," he said softly. It was odd to see foreign lips saying his words…

And then the face began to melt and shift and move. Not much changed, though…the hair darkened to completely black, grew a little longer. The eyes lightened. To green. A vivid but not sparkling green. More like the light of Avada Kedavra. Not the sparkling, happy green his own eyes usually were. These were hard, vicious eyes.

But they were the same shape as his own eyes. And then his face narrowed a little more, the mouth's lips narrowed as well, to a perpetual sneering expression. Harry blanched.

Tom Riddle was staring back at him. A twenty-something Tom Riddle. Dumbledore sighed. "Tom Riddle as he looked before he sunk too far into the Dark Arts to ever really be human again…" he explained. Harry touched the face with his free hand, feeling not just a little revulsion at his parent's murderer's face on his body.

He heard a small clatter. It was Snape, who had turned away sharply. His hands betrayed him, though. The clatter came from him trying to put the cap back on the flask, his fingers trembling too much to align the bottle and the cap correctly on the first attempt. Harry set the mirror down deliberately even as his face started to shift again. It stopped, and Dumbledore frowned lightly. "And Tom Riddle Senior," he said softly.

This face did not last long. It melted away with a tingling feeling seconds after it formed. The potion was stopping. It was running out of strength to work, to Harry's relief. He picked up the mirror when he thought he had his own face back, and checked carefully in the mirror. Everything was back to normal.

"I'm afraid the paperwork is true, then," Dumbledore said softly. "Tom Riddle is indeed your grand-uncle, Harry."

"I don't suppose his blood protection would be stronger than my half-aunt's, would it?" he asked bitterly.

"This is no joking matter, Potter!" Snape spat. Harry glared at him, while Dumbledore sat back down in a reappeared chair.

"What do you want me to do?" he demanded. "Discuss how I'm directly related to the _Dark Lord? _How he's the only real relative that I have?"

"You don't have any idea what you're talking about, Potter," Snape growled.

"Sit down, Severus," Dumbledore cut in. "Harry, stop arguing."

"But—" Harry objected, but it died on his lips. He was lucky Dumbledore wasn't planning on locking him up or something. He was fairly sure Dumbledore didn't place much stake in blood relations for more than functional purposes.

"This is a serious matter, Harry, but not disastrous by any means," Dumbledore told him. "Of course, this must stay out of the hands of the public, Harry. If Voldemort found out about this, it could very well become too dangerous for you to stay anywhere that Voldemort might be able to find you. You would have to go under the Fidelus charm, I suppose…"

"Does his relation to me give him an advantage against me?" he asked. Dumbledore shook his head after a moment.

"Not overly so. You've already dueled against him, Harry, and you survived. You were just as related then as you are now. It should not make any noticeable difference," Dumbledore told him. He glanced at Snape a moment. "And I do not think that knowing that you are his grand-nephew would make him any less likely to kill you, Harry. He does not have mercy."

"I don't think he felt any guilt about killing his niece, either," Harry commented darkly. Dumbledore was quiet a moment.

"Harry, I must ask something of you," he said slowly. Harry looked up sharply. A feeling of doom seemed to grow inside of his stomach.

"No. No way," he said sharply. He shot Snape a death glare. "I'd rather Tom knew."

"Please, Harry," Dumbledore said patiently. "In order to keep this from Voldemort, you will need to master Occlumency. You are not as protected from his influence here, like you were at your half-Aunt's. He can reach you here."

"So he reaches me. So he finds out," Harry said stubbornly. There was no way he was going through that again. No way.

"He could find a way to use it against you with time, Harry," Dumbledore told him. Harry had already known he was going to lose this argument, but he didn't want to give it up without a fight.

"Can't you teach me?" he asked. "I'd rather Filch taught me!" He saw Snape glare at him again at this comment and wanted to smile.

"Professor Snape here is the best at it, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. Snape shifted in his seat a little.

"Perhaps the brat has a point—He and I do not—"

"I cannot be the one to do this, Severus," Dumbledore said, sounding a little like he'd had this argument one too many times. "I am _asking _you to be mature enough to understand my reasons and do this for me."

Snape scowled and looked away. Harry realized a little happily that he wasn't the only one that lost all their arguments to the Headmaster. "I'll do it. And I'll try," he promised. Be the adult, he told himself quietly. Be mature for once. Like Hermione would tell him.

"Fine," Snape grumbled. "Tonight, eight o' clock, I will return."

"Good," Harry said sharply. "Now get out of my house like I asked!"

"Of course, Potter," Snape hissed, eyes narrowing. The man picked up the bag he'd been carrying, dumped the empty flask into it, and swept from the room. Dumbledore sighed heavily, as if upset about something. After Snape was well and truly gone, Harry stood up, and the chairs disappeared.

"Harry, please do not let this upset you too much," Dumbledore said gently. Harry wanted to gape at the man.

"Not be upset by this?" he echoed. "But—"

"Harry, this cannot be helped. You must understand this. The best we can do is work this to our advantage and keep it from Voldemort at the same time. Just try to master Occlumency, Harry. This is very important," Dumbledore told him. Harry was a little thrown off by this. He'd been more angry about the impending Occlumency lesson than anything else. Voldemort being his grand-uncle seemed like cake compared to Snape. "Harry, I have already spoken rather harshly with Professor Snape," Dumbledore told him. "He will follow a lesson plan that I have approved, and if you wish someone can sit in on your lessons. It will not be a repeat of last year."

That seemed pretty fair concessions, Harry decided. "All right," he said. "Remus will be there, or Tonks," he said.

"I just ask that you apply yourself, Harry. I know you have nothing but hate for Professor Snape, but if you can master Occlumency, you will not need to see him outside of class time again. I promise that. As long as you promise to work hard." Harry found himself nodding, listening.

"I'll try,' he promised.

He thought Dumbledore would just leave, but the old man suddenly embraced him for a few brief moments. Harry was still in shock when Dumbledore stepped back, patting his shoulder once. "This changes nothing and everything, Harry. I do not care that you are related to Voldemort. I would think it would feel worse to you to be related to the Dursleys," he added with a small smile. Harry felt himself smiling. Perhaps the Dursleys were worse in their own way…

"Thanks, sir," he said after a moment, feeling as if something should be said. Dumbledore nodded and then swept out of the room. Harry went back to the bed, sitting down on the edge. He put his head in his hands and tried to think everything through.

He, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was the grand-nephew of the monster that he had to kill. He had to kill off a third of living family, if he counted both Petunia and Dudley as relations. He did have a few genes in common with them, though which ones he wasn't certain. Maybe the ones that let you breathe and eat or something… That's about all the Dursleys ever did.

There was a soft knock on the door. Harry looked up as Tonks poked her head in, looking frightened. "What?" he asked, worried.

"Snape," she said. "He gave me a Death Glare, I think," she said. "I'd better punch him harder next time," she added thoughtfully, the fearful expression gone. Harry couldn't help it. He started laughing.

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A/N: I want you to please not judge this chapter too harshly. I know it is slightly cliché and unrealistic to have Harry related to Voldemort or whatever, but I honestly don't think that Lily and Petunia are completely related. There are too many mentions of Petunia appearance, and they don't even begin to match Lily. Probably, it will be nothing, but if it is something it also probably will not be that Harry's related to Voldemort in some way. Boo hoo, I say. This is my damn story. So there!

Don't worry: Lily and James are most definitely Harry's parents in this. I wouldn't ever dream of questioning that, although I have read some very good stories that change Harry's father's identity.

**Numba1: **I know that you had a lot of—er—constructive criticism for my story. I'd just like to note that I'm doing the best I can to make a story that **I **like, more than anything. I'm sorry if you disagree with some of it, but I can promise you that Ginny won't be the love interest for Harry. I think she's over him, and I think that's taking the easy route out of things. I don't know anyone who's married their best friend's sibling. Also. Harry and Snape aren't exactly going to be on friendly terms for a looong time. I think eventually they have to reconcile, and I slightly disagree with your saying that Harry shouldn't be a little forgiving. Because when he looked in the pensieve, he did come out seeing Snape a little bit differently. And he doesn't have any love for Kreacher either. He's tolerating him until he can get rid of him. He doesn't care if that means Kreacher kills himself or what. He just wants him gone. Well, I'm really rambling now… Also, there will be retribution for the Dursleys. Harry's starting to get back up on his feet now after reaching a low. He really did take several steps backwards, but I think he was allowed them after his really bad end to fifth year. People reach low points, and fifteen year olds do it a lot. I know this. My sister was depressed or whatever, and after her 'low point,' she took awhile to start acting her age. She's almost seventeen now and she still acts like a fifteen year old. And before her 'depression,' she acted her age. So whatever. I'm still glad that you reviewed with your thoughts, and I'd once again like to remind you that this is in fact _my _story above all else. I just post it because I think there might be people out there like me who are trying to fill the void that exists between now and the sixth book. Thanks.

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I've been warned that doesn't take kindly to lengthy A/Ns or A/Ns at all. So I'm sorry but I won't be able to respond to questions as much anymore. This is probably the last time I will to such great lengths. Thank you for hanging with me. –Miss Laine


	11. Mother Dearest

Disclaimer: I do not own anything at all related to or part of JK Rowling's Harry Potter books. No suing me.

A/N: Someone reviewed and said the last chapter was a bit confusing. I fixed it a little. Just added a few sentences to maybe make it a little clearer. It was just clear to me I guess cuz before I wrote that chapter I made a semi-family tree. Because the first time I tried to figure it all out I ended up with some really strange things going on. Hopefully, it's a little clearer. I don't know if I recommend a re-read. It's only like three sentences that changed out of seventeen pages.

So if you are still confused a bit: Voldie's daddy had two sons, Jonathan first that he dumped at an orphanage after finding out that Voldie's mom was a witch. He stuck around long enough to name Voldie after himself at the hospital, and then left or whatever. So Voldie had no idea that he had a brother ever. I figure the orphanage was a few towns away or whatever. Something like that anyway…

Hey, and I know that there's people reading this, so please review if you do. It means a lot to me. Thanks.

Okay now on with the chapter before I get too carried away…

000000000000000000000 Chapter 11: Mother Dearest 000000000000000000

When Harry came down to dinner, reluctant to leave his bedroom, only Tonks and Remus were present. The room felt tense and overly-empty. Harry didn't like it at all.

"Where's Bill?" he asked, as he flopped down in a chair. He still felt a little queasy from the potion earlier, but he knew he needed to eat something.

"Bill went home," Remus said casually.

"He found out," Harry said flatly. Remus glanced up with a worried frown.

"He found the papers…It was just a shock, is all," he tried. "And he was still somewhat hung over."

"Sure," Harry agreed morosely. He wondered how Ron would react if he ever found out…it was inevitable, probably…and it wouldn't be pretty.

"Harry, I think I should warn you," Remus said slowly. "Everyone in the Order is going to know of this by tonight, when we have our meeting. Albus is trying hard not to keep secrets any more."

"Great. So he can keep secrets from me, but he'll gladly tell everyone else _my _secrets," Harry grumbled.

"You're invited to the meeting," Remus said abruptly. Harry sat up straight in his chair.

"I am?" he asked, shocked. Mrs. Weasley would have a cow over that, and Ron would probably be jealous…

"Albus doesn't want you left out of our decision and plans, Harry," Remus explained. "Although a requirement for your full membership in the Order includes mastering basic Occlumency skills."

Harry slumped at that. There was no way he'd learn Occlumency in less than several years. Not with Snape 'teaching' him. "Well, that's hopeless then," he said out loud. Remus rolled his eyes.

"Harry, I know you can do this. Just try to work with Professor Snape and not against him. He's not going to change, but you can," Remus suggested. "And anyway—Dumbledore spoke with me before he left, and I'm going to sit in on the lesson. So he won't torment you too much, or I promise I'll stop the lesson."

"What're you going to do? Yell at him?" Harry asked grumpily. "I'm sure that'll work."

"Or he could punch him in the eye," Tonks cut in with an evil grin. "That seems to get across to him."

"Nymphadora!" Remus scolded. Tonks blushed and looked away.

"Sorry," she said. "No more suggestions from me."

"But I like yours!" Harry objected. Remus mock-glared at him.

"I will not be hitting Professor Snape, Harry. And if I catch you punching, hitting, or otherwise attacking Professor Snape, Harry, you'll be grounded for a month," he threatened. Harry laughed.

"I can't leave this house anyway," he pointed out. Remus thought about it.

"I'll tell Kreacher to wait on you for a week," he tried. Harry shook his head.

"You do that and I'll give him clothes," he countered. Remus laughed.

"Go ahead and try, Harry. Try throwing him a sock. He'll dodge it," Remus informed him. Harry knew he was caught, but he wasn't going to give up.

"Well, if you don't see me hit him, you can't punish me," he pointed out. "It's not like Snape would tell you that he got punched by me."

"At least no sucker-punching, please," Remus asked. Harry nodded.

"I'll give him a chance, the greasy git—"

"Harry!" Remus broke in. Harry sighed.

"Sorry," he apologized, not sorry in the least. Snape _was _a greasy git. "I won't do anything unless he says something first."

"Harry—" Remus groaned. Harry smirked, feeling a little violent.

"I can't help it that all Snape does is torment me. He doesn't have to when no one's around. You should have seen him, Remus…he just smiled…" his slightly good feeling died as he remembered Snape just staring down at him while he thrashed and screamed…

Remus and Tonks seemed to understand his sudden silence. They quieted as well, and Tonks stopped eating for a bit. Harry couldn't stand the tension in the air. All because of his mother…

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The red-haired woman smiled and, laughing, tapped the dark-haired young man on the shoulder. She whispered something in his ear that made him shoot a quick glance at the messy-haired man to his left before almost collapsing in laughter. The messy-haired man glared at the woman playfully and mouthed something.

The woman said something back, and a brown-haired man laughed. There was a nervous man standing to one side, and he kept glancing around worriedly every few moments.

Tears obscured the nervous man. They dropped on the glass and rolled, smearing the image with water.

Harry breathed in sharply, realizing that he was crying, and wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. He smeared the tears on the photograph's glass cover so that Wormtail was hidden completely in watery distortions. He did not want to see Wormtail. Peter, the betrayer…

His mother was telling Sirius something else that caused the young man to laugh so hard he fell to his knees.

James was fuming, but not seriously. How could he be angry with his Lily? He was too in love with her to be angry with her for anything…

And Remus, looking a little peaked but actually rather well, for him, said something that made Lily's eyes widen as she darted a look at James. Then, her face broke out into a wicked smile.

James gulped, tugging at his shirt collar, and inched a little over to the left. Lily said something that made James jump, blushing deep red, and Sirius tried to stand, still laughing too hard to talk.

Remus looked smug, arms crossed. Whatever he'd said had been pretty funny, it seemed.

Harry loved watching them. He'd spent all evening watching them, ever since he'd left the table abruptly. Retreated from it in silence and pain…

The photograph was his haven now. He planned now to keep it on the small bedside table so he could reach it whenever he needed it. He'd felt betrayed at first, seeing his mother in the photograph and knowing now who her uncle was, but now that he'd had a bit of a chance to accept it, it didn't seem to matter as much. No matter what, he still wanted her back. He wanted them all back. His father, Sirius, and his mother.

The glass lily was there on his bedside table as well. He was afraid to keep it under his pillow now that it was cracked. The flower was such a powerful reminder of his mother…he just wished it could have stayed whole. But somehow it was fitting. Ironic in its own way.

He loved watching his parents and their friends all together. He supposed Sirius had kept it for that very same reason. Because he had missed his friends as much as Harry had missed having a family.

He felt cheated, really. He'd never gotten to have a family. Not like Ron and Hermione. They had parents that loved them. Almost every student at Hogwarts had parents that loved them. Except those that Voldemort had targeted for whatever reasons.

And at least Neville had relatives that wanted him to be magical and at least cared about him a little. They wouldn't be happier if he was dead. Not like the Durlseys.

Harry felt a little guilty for sitting in bed wallowing in his self-pity. He felt like he deserved at least an hour of self-pity after so many years, but he still felt a little guilty doing it. A voice in his head that sounded eerily like Hermione told him sharply that he had to make do with what he did have…which wasn't much, admittedly, but he couldn't just let it overwhelm him.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. His mother. It was his mother that was the problem this time. At least it hadn't been something she'd consciously done. After all, she couldn't choose her parents, nor could she choose who her child was going to be…

At least she wasn't like James Potter had been. James, the conceited, stuck up prat that thought everything revolved around him. The _cool _boy at school. James, who taunted and humiliated other less-liked students because he could. Because he got bored, or because he wanted to impress some girl.

That made him feel sick, even now. Even though Remus had said that they were just fifteen year olds at the time…that everyone that age did stupid things.

And yet Harry could not imagine himself humiliating someone just because they existed. Because that was what Dudley had done to him until he went to Hogwarts. Especially when he was in primary school…his time there had been as close as he'd ever gotten to Hell on earth.

His father had changed. He knew that. How could he not? He got married, got a very serious job, had a child… And Harry knew first hand, for a fact, that his father had selflessly given his life for his wife and child. No coldhearted prat could do that.

Sirius hadn't been given a chance to change much. Azkaban tore that from him. He tried, but Harry had the feeling that Sirius was stuck in the past. Those twelve years had taken his life from him, left him with only the very worst of it. How could you recover that?

Snape was allowed to hate James and Sirius, if he wanted. On his own time, and quietly. That was all he would give the greasy, pale git. It was the same as him hating Snape not-so quietly…but Snape really and truly had started it, so he didn't feel like a hypocrite for hating Snape vocally. An eleven year old boy cannot possibly be the one responsible in a student-professor fight.

Snape had no reason to torment him. Just because he happened to look like his father. His very much dead father. Who had only been five years older than he was now when he was murdered.

How could Snape say the things he did? Harry didn't understand how he'd come to earn Snape's undying hatred like he had. He knew for a fact that the animosity had been initiated by Snape. He hadn't been the one to humiliate anyone in class. He hadn't accused Snape of breaking rules every chance he got, nor had he tried to get him fired. Although Snape did break rules all the time, or at least bend them to his wishes.

No, James Potter had not been a nice person when he was fifteen. Probably he hadn't figured it out until after Sirius's attempted prank. Knocked some sense into his teenaged head.

Lily hadn't wanted anything to do with James Potter before sixth year. She had been smart enough to see him for what he was. Ignorant. Arrogant. Prat with a huge, bolded, capital 'P.'

She had been sweet and smart. Everyone said that, and since Snape had never argued that, he assumed it was probably true. She had _died _for him. He knew that from the dementors. No one could deny that she had died for him. No one. She would never have handed her son over to death. She was real, pure.

Not anymore, it seemed. Not when her own uncle was her murderer. Her blood was Riddle blood. As was his. He was probably Voldemort's closest relative, he supposed. His heir, perhaps. He was very lucky, he realized, that Voldemort had never figured it out. If his blood tie were stronger than his half-aunt's, then Voldemort probably could have just waltzed into Privet Drive and taken Harry…if he had known about the relationship. It didn't seem like he did.

His eyes were fixed on Lily. She was teasing Sirius now, instead of her future husband, and Sirius kept shifting uncomfortably, looking around worriedly. He ran his fingers through his thick black hair and said something back to her. She blushed prettily and said something else that made Remus laugh suddenly and Sirius duck away, beet red.

Sweet and devilish…he could see it now, her Slytherin side. She was certainly not all innocence and beauty. She had a cunning streak in her. Overshadowed by her intelligence and caring, probably, but there nonetheless. He just wished his mother could have stayed perfect. Without the curls of red grasping at the white…

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"Harry? The meeting's beginning soon."

Harry got out of the bed for probably the fifth time that day. Remus had sounded tentative at best, worried and nervous.

"Coming," he said, loud enough to be heard outside of the door. He stuffed his feet back into his shoes and tromped out of his room, heading down the hall and down the stairs. He knew the meetings were held at the long, formal dining room table, and he headed there without looking around at anything. He did not want to see anyone's faces yet. If they knew, they would be full of fear and worry…if they didn't, they soon would.

"There you are, Harry," he heard. He looked up. Dumbledore was smiling warmly at him from where he stood near the head of the dining room table. He gave him a wan smile in return, then looked down the table for an empty seat. There were only a few members present yet, and Harry quickly took a seat towards the foot of the table, next to Tonks. Remus was farther up the table, near Dumbledore. Kinglsey Shacklebolt and Bill Weasley were both near Remus, and Hestia Jones was a little further down the table.

Mad-eye Moody came in the room next, stomping heavily on his wooden leg. Harry kept his eyes down, just watching out of the very corner of his eyes as Moody took a seat on the same side as him, three chairs away.

Charlie appeared next, looking tired. He had burn marks on his left arm that were only partially covered by his tattered sleeve. He smiled around breathlessly and sat down, oblivious to the tension building around the table.

Harry stared at his hands, refusing to meet anyone's questioning eyes. No one said a word about him being there. They just kept glancing at him, looking halfway between worried and annoyed. He probably looked like he was refusing to leave or something. Certainly it wouldn't occur to them that he could have been invited.

A frown flashed across his face as he saw that Snape had arrived, McGonagall, Sprout, Flitwik, and Hooch coming soon after. They took up most of the rest of the seats, leaving only two…next to Harry's right. It seemed no one wanted to sit too close to him…

He found out just who the last two were. "Harry?!" Mrs. Weasley cried when she saw him. He jerked, looking up in surprise. He'd forgotten that she and Mr. Weasley were members of the Order.

"Hullo, Mrs. Weasley," he said quietly.

"Albus! What is he doing at the meeting?" Mrs. Weasley demanded, turning. Albus smiled.

"Harry is sixteen, Molly. He is also central to many of Voldemort's (Several flinches here, Harry noted) plans. It is only right that he be included," Dumbledore explained. Mrs. Weasley frowned, looking a little annoyed.

"The Order is not for children, Albus! …No offense to you, Harry," she added with a small smile for him. Harry just stared at her, willing himself not to care what she said. "It is much too dangerous—"

She stopped as Dumbledore held up a hand. "Molly, I agree with you completely, but I do not feel that Harry here is a child. He has not been for some time. Also, some information has come to light that makes Harry's role in this Order much more important."

"What—" Mr. Weasley began.

"Please, sit," Dumbledore requested. "All will be explained in due time."

The two parent Weasleys sat down without any more protest, Mrs. Weasley sitting down next to him. She patted his knee and gave him a small smile. Harry smiled back weakly, and then felt a hand on his shoulder.

Tonks. Harry glanced over at her and saw that she had a slightly annoyed expression on her face. She turned away when she caught him looking and blushed. Harry rolled his eyes. He wondered if it was just him, or did women always want to take care of parentless children?

"Now that everyone is here, we shall begin," Dumbledore said gravely. "First of all, I know that you are all wondering why Mr. Potter has joined us. And, as I said, I feel that it is time he were involved. He plays an important part in this, and I was wrong last year keeping him out of it."

Harry nodded his head slightly, trying to show that he accepted the covert apology. He and Dumbledore were even now. They had both apologized for their actions. "I'm grateful to be allowed here," he said.

"It is a risk having him here," Snape spoke up. Harry glared at him, trying to keep from looking too angry at the man. "He has too much of a connection to the Dark Lord. He will compromise our situation."

There were some murmurs of agreement and Harry looked down. It didn't look like his membership in the Order was going to last that long after all. "I have given Harry this opportunity, as long as he masters the basics of Occlumency," Dumbledore spoke out slightly louder to be heard over the others.

"Well, he didn't do it last year," Snape spoke out snidely. Harry clenched his hands into fists, feeling even more upset. He hated Snape. Snape was the only one vocally trying to get him kicked out.

"Then it is up to you to help him, isn't it?" Dumbledore said softly. The chastisement could be heard in his tone, and Harry smirked. "Of course, I'm sure Harry will try much harder this time around?" The smirk vanished and he looked away again. Dumbledore didn't have to say that. His stupidity with Occlumency had led to Sirius's death. Of course he would master it this time. He'd do anything to stop another death.

Snape didn't respond to Dumbledore's quiet question. "I think you should tell them now," Bill spoke up, face still pale and drawn. Dumbledore sighed as everyone looked curious and concerned.

"Bill is referring to several points of information that have come to light. The one that he does not know is something that I was informed about a few days ago. It seems that Voldemort has become more determined to kill Harry," Dumbledore explained. The two hands came back a moment, squeezing his shoulders one right after the other. Harry shifted a little, annoyed, and they both pulled away. "He has been using dark spells and potions in order to tighten the connection he and Harry share, so that when he has visions he directly experiences them."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. He did not want any comfort from anyone. Not now. But he felt like he should say some sort of explanation… "Er, last night I had a vision," he explained. "He was torturing two men."

"The hope is that Occlumency will stop this," Dumbledore explained. "These visions, though they can be helpful—" –here he glanced at Mr. Weasley, who nodded—"—are not helpful enough to warrant their continuation. It is too much of a danger to Harry and to the Order."

"Perhaps this _is_ too dangerous…" Shaklebolt murmured. Everyone looked nervous. Dumbledore still hadn't dropped the bombshell.

Harry could tell he was about to. The old wizard sighed, breathing out slowly. "There is more," he said slowly. "The information that Bill here wishes me to divulge." He produced several sheets of paper, and Harry recognized the letter he'd received from the Office of Ancestry.

Before Harry could protest or say a word Dumbledore had replicated the family tree page and set it around the room. A copy fluttered into Harry's hands, and once again he forced himself to look at it, at the lines that showed how his grandfather was Voldemort's older half-brother.

The room was silent. A few papers rustled as hands shook, but no one said a word for at least five minutes. Harry didn't know what to do. Now that he was at least partly over the shock of it all, it annoyed him to see other people looking so frightened and worried. It wasn't like Voldemort was _their _relative. Just his…

"Is—" Mr. Weasley began, then had to stop and clear his throat, "Is this accurate?" he asked.

"It is," Dumbledore confirmed. There were a few gasps, and Harry found himself wanting to jump up on the table and tell everyone to just get over it already. Or maybe jump up and start cackling madly and cursing people. They'd probably wouldn't be surprised. Just showing his Slytherin side or something… "Severus administered a form of a lineage potion to Harry in order to confirm it."

"And so Lily…" Mrs. Weasley said weakly.

"Was Voldemort's niece, yes," Dumbledore explained patiently. "The Office of Ancestry works in complete confidentiality. All information is automatically recorded. No one at the office ever sees any of the information."

"Then why was it sent?" Hestia Jones spoke up. She sounded very frightened, and Harry noticed that the others only looked at him in the form of quick glances. No one made eye contact with him. It was as if they expected to see Voldemort staring out at them…

He was just happy that no one had bolted from the room. He would've quit right then and there if they had.

"Harry here is the last of the Potter and Evans/Riddle lines. Voldemort killed his father and his father's parents, his mother died in childbirth, and Jonathan Riddle…Jacob Evans…was killed with his wife sometime later. And then he killed his niece. Petunia Dursley is not related to him at all. The only one left is Harry."

"He's my grand-uncle," he supplied. Just to see everyone flinch, mostly. He did not like their skittish, worried behavior. It was annoying at best. "Grand-uncle Tom Marvolo Riddle," he added as an afterthought. He was feeling a little sarcastic at the moment.

"That will be enough, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. Harry caught Snape giving him his patented Death Glare. The one that he reserved for those moments when Harry was 100% certain that Snape was imagining Harry drawn and quartered, or maybe writhing in pain under the Cruciatus Curse for a few hours. The glare that promised very, very painful death.

He returned it with the glare that meant if he thought it would accomplish anything remotely useful, he would turn Snape over to Voldemort the first chance he got. Snape looked away haughtily, and Harry smirked.

"What does it mean for us?" Charlie asked, recovering. He didn't look quite as shell-shocked as Bill still did.

"The blood connection is hard to determine," Dumbledore admitted. "A half-aunt versus a half-grand-uncle is hard to determine. I will work on this on my own time. Other than that, though, it does not change much. Voldemort already used Harry's blood for his rebirth. His blood is very similar to Harry's now."

Harry shivered in his seat. He hadn't thought of it that way. Voldemort's blood was his blood…and now his blood was Voldemort's. It had all come full circle in some sort of ridiculous irony. Mrs. Weasley must have seen his smirk because she turned towards him. "Are you all right, Harry?" she asked him worriedly.

He looked up at her, realizing that he now looked straight into her eyes. He had, for some time, he noted with a start. For some reason, he always remembered being eleven when he saw her, looking up at a smiling red-haired woman… It seemed so long ago.

"Yeah," he said. "Fine. My grand-uncle just wants to finish off the last of his family is all."

Mrs. Weasley frowned. "Albus…" she said, without looking away from him. Harry found he couldn't look away either, though he dearly wanted to. It was like she was reading his eyes. He wished he could lie, but his eyes betrayed him all of the time.

"Harry would tell me if he needed to talk, wouldn't you, Harry?" Dumbledore said. Harry wanted to nod. He forced himself to nod.

"Yeah," he said. He wasn't totally sure he meant it. But he would try to talk to someone.

The look in Mrs. Weasley's eyes promised that the person he would be talking to would be her. The hand on his shoulder promised that it would be Tonks.

And the only person he really wished he could talk to was Sirius…

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Harry waited in the hall for the meeting to finish. He'd been excused after a few more questions—it wasn't that Dumbledore didn't want him there, it seemed, but that he needed to learn to block his mind before they could trust him with any really important secrets. Otherwise, Voldemort would just shove into his mind at night and pick through for the things he wanted.

Snape had sent him a 'wait for me to come find you' glare as he left, and Harry had remembered with dread the coming Occlumency lesson. It would not go well, he knew for certain. He was too emotional at the moment to even consider clearing his mind, so instead he just focused his thoughts into one problem. His mother.

He focused on her, imagining her alive and talking and laughing. He imagined just what she'd say if she found out her uncle was none other than the one that wanted her dead. _'Perhaps I can reach him,' _he could imagine her words clearly. To bad he couldn't really imagine her voice…all he'd heard were her screams and pleas… _'Family must help family, you know, no matter what path they've chosen.'_

He was knocked right out of those thoughts by the door of the dining room slamming open. Snape stood there, glaring. "Come, Potter," he snapped. "It is time we began. Again."

"Fine," he snapped back. "Where's Remus?"

"You _will _call me sir," Snape said icily. "And the werewolf will be in shortly." Harry breathed once, thinking of his mother. Remember her, he told himself. Don't think about Snape. Greasy, stupid—no! Red hair, smiling, laughing…that was better.

"Yes, sir," he said out loud, proud that his voice sounded unconcerned, almost pleasant. Snape actually glanced over curiously at the sound of his voice, but Harry just smiled while he thought of the photograph again. He wondered just what they'd been talking about that day. It was probably hilarious and completely care-free.

They went into the sitting room where he, Dumbledore, and Remus had talked before. There was a fire crackling in the fireplace, and the room was better lit than before. Instead of plush chairs, there was a desk and two wooden chairs on the now-stone floor. Harry realized this room must be something like the Room of Requirement. It changed to fit their needs.

They waited in tense silence for Remus to arrive. He did, after a few more minutes, and gave Harry a tenuous smile before taking a seat a little away from the other two. He was an observer, not a participant in the lesson. Harry sighed, hoping Remus kept his word to keep Snape in line.

"Are you prepared?" Snape asked him sharply. He nodded, allowing himself to stay lost in thought. He didn't think he could keep Snape out of his mind, but he was sort of hoping that he'd only see the memories he chose. Namely, those concerning his mother. If it worked, he planned next time to focus on his father. Just to annoy Snape.

"Sure," he said out loud, taking his wand out. He didn't even look at Snape. He just stared past him, wondering if he could find some more pictures of his mother to put up down here.

As if catching his thoughts, the painting on the wall he was staring at suddenly sported a red-haired woman who wandered into the painting smiling and carrying a basket. Harry smiled, happy even if the woman probably wasn't his mother. "Legillimens!" Snape snapped, startling Harry somewhat. He raised his own wand as he realized Snape had cast the spell, but did nothing else to fight back.

0

_'James Potter! Stop that this instant!' _he heard his mother's voice. He wondered what she was talking about. The memory was very old. Something he did not consciously remember.

He knew he was supposed to be fighting it, but he couldn't. He wanted to hear what was going on. _'Sorry, Lils,' _came his father's voice, sounding embarrassed.

_'You're going to give him a fear of flying, James, if you don't stop tossing him up like that!' _Lily scolded. Harry realized the reason the vision in this memory was so fuzzy was because his father had been tossing him up into the air repeatedly, making little whirring noises. He heard his own giggles.

_'See? He likes it, Lily! Born to fly, this one,' _James said. Harry felt a wave of anguish, longing…how much he wished he could have just a few memories of his parents!

The memory changed even as he strained to hear more. Now, it was the shadows coming from Voldemort's wand. His mother dropped from the wand tip, a gray shadowed form. He swallowed, remembering her few words. It was like she was there. Like his father was there…

0

The memory dissolved suddenly, before a single word had been spoken. The room came back into focus.

Harry blinked. He had no idea what had happened. He hadn't done anything. From the look on Snape's face, he was similarly baffled. "What did you do, Potter?" Snape demanded. Harry thought about it.

"Er—I just watched, I think," he said. "I've been thinking about my mother all day, so I just kept thinking about her when you did the spell. And then it just dissolved…"

"You did something, Potter," Snape accused. "Legillimency does not just stop working because someone is standing there doing _nothing._"

"Severus," Remus said suddenly, tone warning. Snape glared but didn't continue in his tirade. Harry wanted to provoke the man some more, but he figured he'd rather just have Snape gone. So much for his 'never come back' policy. He wouldn't be able to keep Snape away.

"Well, that's all I did," Harry said flatly. He didn't want to end the day angry, but it was looking likely that it wouldn't happen. Snape just couldn't let things be.

"Were you trying to repel me with your mind?" Snape pressed.

"No, not really," Harry said honestly. "I wanted to hear more of what my mum said. I don't have any memories of her, except for when she was killed," he pointed out. Snape glared at him, as if upset that he'd brought the subject up at all.

"What were you thinking, then?" Snape demanded. Harry sighed.

"Hmm…well, I was sort of sad, I guess, wondering what it would've been like if they were here instead of dead…that's about it," he summed it up. Snape eyed him.

"We will continue this later, Potter," Snape said, after a quick glance Remus's direction. Obviously, he didn't want to give the other man anything to tell Dumbledore. "I wish to do some research, and you should be fine for tonight. Do not think that this constitutes an improvement, Potter. Because the Dark Lord would rip through your pathetic attempts to block him in mere seconds."

"Thanks," Harry said sarcastically. He did not say sir and Snape didn't remind him to. Instead, the dark man swept out of the room angrily. Harry shrugged.

"That was short," Remus commented. Harry sighed.

"Something happened," he admitted. "The spell quit working."

"Did you do anything at all?" Remus asked. He stood up and came over, looking interested. Harry sighed.

"I was just thinking about my mum," he said honestly. "It was kind of like the first time Voldemort possessed me. And I thought of Sirius falling…and then it just lifted and pulled away…"

"Harry…" Remus said softly. Harry stepped away. He did not need Remus hugging him right now. They still needed to have that talk about that…

"I'm fine," he said shortly. "I'm sure the next lesson will be much worse than this," he added grouchily. He just wanted to take a bath and go to bed. That was it.

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He held the photograph tightly in his hands. His mother was sitting now, seemingly tired of standing for so long. She was leaning against James, giggling softly at something he'd said.

He was playing with her long red hair. Twirling his fingers through it, his eyes shining. Her large green eyes twinkled as she looked up at him. They twinkled even more as Harry's tears once again dripped onto the glass. He wished with all of his might at just that moment…that he could have seen his parents alive just once, together like they were in the photograph. So in love with each other…

Sirius and Remus were off to one side, chatting and every now and then checking out girls that walked by in the background of the picture. One must have heard some comment Sirius made because she came over, smacked him hard, and stormed off. Remus wouldn't stop laughing even when Sirius tackled him.

Peter was no longer in the picture. He had wandered away. Harry did not care.

The four were happy in the photograph. Happy, like Harry wished he could be. Perhaps someday, when he, Ron, and Hermione graduated they would be like that. Voldemort dead, the only thing worrying them being their future careers.

He set the photograph upright on the small table beside the bed. Lying back, he watched it a few moments longer before taking his glasses off and settled down further. That was how he wanted his graduation to be. Happy. Carefree. He'd do anything for it to be like that…even if he did get smacked by some girl like Sirius had.

He'd kill Voldemort, if that was what it took. He wanted his life back.

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A/N: This is kind of a very angsty chapter. I titled it the way I did because it spends a lot of time focusing and refocusing on Harry's thoughts about his mother. He loves her so much because she's the only one he's got left that isn't guilty of some fault or crime. And then he had to learn this about her…well, he's just trying to come to an understanding about it. It's hard.

The photograph and Harry crying what—twice? in this chapter won't continue. It's kind of symbolic thing for him. You'll see.

Hopefully, I haven't lost anyone with this plot. I'm sorry if Voldemort being related to Harry seems wrong or unrealistic to you, but it works for me if I stretch my imagination a little bit. It's not any more unrealistic than some of the other plots people do. They're all just as good. If you have any suggestions at all, though, go ahead and tell me! I love suggestions and questions, and I do my best to answer those that I do get.

Don't think that I don't want to hear what you have to say. How can the story get better if no one tells me what they think? And a huge thanks to those that have reviewed recently: Angel74, mindylou, Oblivion13, hedowl5, numba1, David305, etc. You're all very appreciated. Thanks.

--Miss Laine


	12. Answering the Mail

Disclaimer: Harry Potter isn't mine. Nothing's changed since last chapter. Really.

A/N: Thanks for all of the wonderful reviews!!! Some people have been disappointed that Ron and Hermione haven't shown up at all. Well, don't be disappointed much longer. They're coming.

00000000000000000 Chapter 12: Answering the Mail 00000000000000

Something huge crashed down onto him. Pinning his arms tightly to the bed. The weight was crushing his stomach…

He tried to break free, flailing his arms, but whatever it was pinned him down tightly. He shouted instead, and twisted hard. The response to that was something just as heavy as the first attacker landed on his legs. "Help!!" he shouted out again.

When his shout faded, he heard giggling. Immediately his eyes snapped open.

And he found himself looking into a laughing pair of blue eyes. Framed with long red hair. "GINNY!" he said. She pulled back a little, still smiling.

"I'm right here, Harry," she said. "You don't have to yell." She laughed again. "And your breath stinks, too!"

"Well if we let him up he could brush his teeth," came Hermione's voice. "Do we want to let him up is the question."

"I say we hold him down until he begs," Ginny said. Hermione shifted on his legs a little.

"Hmm…or maybe we could find out if he's ticklish," she mused. Harry tried struggling again, but he couldn't dislodge either of the girls. Mostly because he was still so weak.

"How about I don't sic Kreacher on you, and you let me up," he threatened.

"And maybe he could get dressed?" another asked. Ron. Sounding older, more matured, than he had almost a month before.

"That'd be nice," he added. The weight came off his legs. Hermione had gotten off of him. Finally, Ginny sighed and got off his stomach. He breathed in and then sat up. Sure enough, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all standing there, smiling, happy, and most importantly unhurt. "How—how come you guys are here?" he asked, amazed. Ron grinned.

"Charlie came by with your letter, Harry, and we started buggin' mum immediately about letting us come. They said your birthday would be too obvious, if You-Kn…Voldemort…was planning anything. Mum was all worried about security things, but she talked to Dumbledore about it last night at the Order meeting," Ron explained. "I guess he assured her that it'd be all right." Harry realized his best friend really had grown. Had he really been that tall before? He was probably as tall as or taller than Bill, and his voice had deepened considerably.

"We've got all day to spend here," Hermione added. "Just so long as we don't leave the house, and if anything comes up we run and hide."

"Well, I'm glad you're here," he said firmly. "I was kind of disappointed when no one was able to come to my birthday," he admitted. "I was just hoping I'd get to see you before school starts up again."

"Well come on," Ron said. "Breakfast, and then we've got lots to catch up on!"

He swung his legs out of the bed after he'd managed to push the duvet away from his body, and stood up slowly. Hermione looked worried. "Harry," she said solemnly.

"What?" he asked. He looked down at himself. What was wrong?

"Why are you so thin, Harry?" she asked. "I thought you'd been here a week already," she said.

"I have," he said slowly. "And I eat!" he added defensively. Hermione was in mothering mode now…it must just be him, he decided. He'd have to work on that. He didn't need to walk down a street and have every female his age or older after him to feed him or clothe him or hug him. He'd go nuts. Perhaps if he had a dog…a really vicious one…or a dragon! Maybe he could talk Charlie into it…

"Well, you certainly don't look it!" Hermione broke in fussily. Harry looked to Ron for support, but even Ron looked a little worried.

"Oh, come on," he said. "I'm alive, aren't I?" he said irritably. None of the three faces relented, and he sighed. "Fine. I'll get dressed and be downstairs in five minutes," he told them. "Then you can torture me for as long as you want."

"Harry—" Ginny said. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I was joking. Just joking, okay?" he assured them.

He waited for them to leave, the door clicking closed behind them, before getting dressed. He made sure to wear an extra shirt under his sweater, so that he wouldn't look quite as thin. He didn't need Hermione trying to stuff food in him. Not while Tonks was doing her best to stuff him silly.

He went down the stairs cautiously. There was some sort of argument coming from the kitchen. He did not want to find out that it was Hermione and Ron arguing, but it sounded like two higher-pitched voices. Two women…oh no, he thought to himself.

His fears were correct. He came into the kitchen to find Tonks _and _Mrs. Weasley there, both arguing over the cooking. He tried to back out quietly, hoping to just get to the table, find something edible, and then run for it.

Again he wasn't so lucky. "Good morning, Harry!" Remus said merrily, coming into the kitchen as well. Harry groaned and Remus frowned. "Is everything all right, Harry?" he asked.

"No," Harry groaned. He pointed, and Remus followed his finger to the two women who had just turned. He started laughing, and Harry glared at him even as the women advanced.

"Harry!" Tonks said first. "Sit down! Breakfast'll be out in a bit, and I want to see you finish everything up!"

Harry backed up as Mrs. Weasley smiled as well. "You're much too skinny for a boy your age," she said. "I'll make sure that you're in top shape by the time Hogwarts rolls around."

Tonks shot a dirty look at Mrs. Weasley's back and then returned to her cooking.

"O-okay, Mrs. Weasley," he said, backing up still further. "I—I'll just be in the dining room," he said. He fled before she could say another word, Remus's laughter echoing behind him.

When he got into the dining room, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were already at the table, as well as Bill. Harry worried for a moment that Bill would give him away, but the young man just smiled cheerily. "Come on, Harry," Ron said. "We're playing exploding snap until mum's got breakfast ready."

"Last I saw she was fighting with Tonks," Hermione said with a frown.

"Is it me or do women like taking care of kids?" he asked. Hermione laughed at him.

"I think it's the messy hair and big green eyes, Harry. Women like Mrs. Weasley can't resist that," Hermione told him. He groaned and sank down into a chair.

"Maybe I should dye my hair," he offered.

"How about blonde?" Ron suggested wickedly. He laid down a card and they suddenly all exploded. They shoved the rest of the cards back into a pile while Ron continued to grin evilly. Harry grimaced.

"Then we could call you Malfoy Junior," Ginny added with a cackle. Harry laid his head down on the wooden table.

"That'd be just what I'd need," he griped. "Malfoy's already determined to do something to me this year," he added. "He'd probably kill me straight out if I bleached my hair. Besides, it'd just turn back to black overnight."

"Why?" Hermione asked. Harry looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"My hair always grows back," he explained. "When Petunia used to cut it, it'd just grow back during the night to the way it was before. There wasn't anything she could do to it that would last overnight at least."

"I guess no haircuts for you, then," Ron said.

"I guess not," he sighed. "Hope it doesn't want to grow long or anything," he added as an afterthought. "That'd drive me nuts."

"Breakfast!" Mrs. Weasley announced, coming in with several dishes of food floating behind her. Tonks was behind her, floating another two dishes along with a stack of plates, silverware, and cups for the pitcher of juice following her.

They started in on the food without much talk. Harry was hungry, and ate quickly, not paying attention to how Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione, and even Ginny kept glancing at him as if making sure that he kept eating for many more minutes.

When he stopped, there was a cluck of disapproval from Mrs. Weasley. He glared at her half-heartedly. "I'm full, all right?" he told her. She frowned slightly, but didn't say anything. He breathed out.

"I'll be in the sitting room," he said, and got up from the table quickly before anyone could protest.

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The room was brightly lit, like the night before…and there were boxes everywhere. He groaned. The letters. All those damn bloody letters…

He realized his friends would be showing up probably in minutes. He had to get rid of the letters. He jumped over a stack of boxes and quickly shoved them behind a chair. The second stack went into the corner, a blanket thrown over them, and then the third was pushed against the wall. Hopefully, they wouldn't wonder what it was… But in the end it didn't matter. As he was rushing to try to stack the three boxes in the very center of the room, the door swung open and Ron came in, Hermione and Ginny just behind him. He straightened up, blushing inexplicably and feeling guilty.

"Er—what're you doing, mate?" Ron asked. Harry sighed.

"Just—just moving some boxes," he said. "They're all over the place."

"Letters!" Ginny exclaimed. Harry groaned, and saw that there was the end of a few letters jutting out of a box. Right in plain view. Ginny was already hurrying forward though, tugging at the top of the box.

"Gin—" he started, but the box top popped open. The room was showered with letters, floating down all over the rugs. He groaned again. So much for hiding the bloody letters.

"What are these all?" Hermione asked, picking her way over to the mess of letters and picking up a couple. Harry stayed silent, wondering just how red his face would get before exploding.

Ron was gaping. Harry was very worried about that. It would either mean Ron was jealous or he was very close to laughing. Harry hoped it was laughing. He didn't want Ron jealous because of some stupid letters. "These are fan letters!" Ginny exclaimed. She started laughing. "Harry, maybe you should answer your letters instead of hiding them!"

He sat down, brushing letters off the seat. "Dumbledore withheld them until my birthday," he explained. "He said he can't hold my mail legally anymore."

Ron started laughing, and Harry breathed a sigh of relief. "What do they all want?" Hermione asked, still amazed. Harry sighed.

"I dunno," he admitted. "I've only heard what one of them said. It was like four years old, from this girl who wanted me to come to her class."

"Wow," Ginny said. "Well, come on, let's read a bunch of them," she suggested. Harry glanced at Ron.

"I—they're really stupid," he said. Ginny tsked.

"Harry, it's impolite not to answer your mail," she scolded.

"Even if it's like fifty thousand letters," Ron piped up. Harry rolled his eyes.

"They said there's about ten thousand letters or something. They sorted out the junk and the letterbombs already."

"Letterbombs?" Hermione gasped. Ron looked confused.

"There were a bunch of booby-trapped letters," he explained. "They're all destroyed, though."

"Wow," Ron said, finally coming closer and sitting down. "They could've done you a favor and answered these for you while they were at it."

"Well, let's get started," Ginny said.

"What?!" Harry yelped. She couldn't be serious.

"Oh, come on," she said. "It'll be fun. We can read through 'em and sort them out. Then you just have to make one response for each group and copy it a bunch of times," she explained.

"That's a really good idea," he admitted. "But they're probably incredibly boring…"

"Listen to this one," Ron crowed. He'd opened a letter and was reading it avidly. "'Dear Mr. Potter, on behalf of my daughter Claudia Vendre, I would like to suggest a union between our noble houses. I have as dowry for my daughter our Liverpool Mansion, as well as several hundred acres of prime grasslands. Included is my daughter's photograph, and all the necessary forms for betrothal. Please respond as soon as you have time. Thank you, yours humbly, Lord Graymothe Vendre.'"

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all laughing hard by the end of this, and Harry was blushing beet red. "Well, is she pretty?" Ginny asked. Ron looked at the picture, eyebrows rising.

He let out a wolf whistle. "Hey—do you like leggy blondes, Harry?" he asked. "They're not my type," he added quickly at Hermione's slightly put-out look.

"Gimme that," he said. He leant forward and snatched it out of Ron's hands.

"W-which pile does that go in?" Ginny asked through her laughter. Harry glowered.

"The pile that gets the short letter," he said. "Dear whomever," he quoted. "The answer is no!"

This only made the other three laugh all the harder. He quickly shoved the letter towards a far corner and ripped open another viciously. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were quick to follow, seemingly hoping to find more embarrassing letters.

"Here's the 'I want to meet you' pile," Ginny announced. "Sheesh, Harry. Some of these girls are pretty desperate," she added. Harry just blushed, turning away. He quite clearly remembered Ginny's own attempts at him.

"And the ones that want your autograph are here," Hermione said. Harry jumped.

"People want my autograph?" he asked, astounded.

Ron laughed. "After they see your handwriting they won't be as eager, don't worry," he joked. Harry laughed as well. Perhaps he should start writing so illegibly that no one could figure his name out of his signature. Just a scribble. That'd be perfect. What if he signed it, "grand-nephew of You-Know-Who" or something? That'd be hilarious…

"Hmm," Hermione said. "I suppose all those that don't really fit into a specific category will have to go here," she said. "Here's a pile for ones from companies and foundations," she added, setting down a few letters.

Harry looked through the ones that he had opened. Two were from girls that wanted him to visit their schools, one was from a boy that wanted to know what the best broom was, and another was from an orphanage, asking him if he would like to donate any money.

He put them in their respective piles and was just reaching for another letter when he heard Ginny. "Oh, oh," she said in an alarmed tone.

"What now?" he asked. "What do they want?"

"The Order must've let this one through for some reason," she said. She handed it to Harry, who held it lightly while he read.

_'Dear Mr. Potter,_

_While you may feel that you are in some way safe from my Lord, I would suggest that you do not assume that you are safe. As foolish and stupid as you are, it will only be a matter of time before he finds you and kills you._

_I would like to point out that your escape from him that night was one of pure luck. You will not be so lucky next time, and I'm sure that my Lord will be most—ah—eager to have you in his hands. _

_Prepare yourself for a pain-filled future, Mr. Potter. For I do not think that my Lord will be feeling merciful when he finds you. He has already devised some rather interesting plans for you and your torture before he kills you. _

_Have a wonderful, though brief, life and pleasant dreams._

_A faithful Death Eater.'_

Harry gulped. That was not a nice letter. "I—I suppose it wasn't booby-trapped, so they didn't notice it," he said in a weak voice. He handed it over to Hermione and Ron, who read it slowly, their faces draining of all color until they were white at the end.

"That's a serious threat," Ron said softly. Harry sighed.

"Well, I guess being possessed last year was a pretty serious threat too," he admitted. He didn't notice that Ron and Hermione had stopped opening letters now.

"S-someone mentioned that you were possessed," Ginny said in a small voice.

"Yeah," Harry said softly. He still felt bad about when he'd forgotten that Ginny had been possessed when she was just a first year. "Look, Ginny, if I'd had any idea that being possessed what that painful, I wouldn't have just forgotten about it all," he apologized.

"But—it didn't hurt," Ginny said softly. "It was just like being in a trance, like I said. Like under Imperious or something."

Harry blushed. "Oh," he said. "I—I just thought…"

"Harry, what happened this summer?" Hermione suddenly asked. Harry glanced at her. Listen to Hermione, he told himself sternly. That means be honest with her, and Ron, too.

"Er—well, in the letter I did kinda mention that the Dursleys were being real jerks," he said slowly. Hermione frowned.

"They did more than just lock you up, didn't they?" she asked. Harry sometimes wondered how she could figure things out so quickly.

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "I guess I started it though. I got mad at my aunt and started yelling at her. She yelled back, said she'd had enough of it, and had my uncle come talk to me."

"And?" Hermione pressed.

"Well, you know me," he said with a weak smile. "Can't keep my mouth shut. I yelled at him and wouldn't stop talking back, so they locked me up."

"_And?_" Hermione said again. Harry sighed.

"Well, my aunt's always been big on smacking me when I talk back. I guess I just got really fed up with having to listen to her, so I kept talking back and she kept smacking me. I stopped her, but it's not like I'm going to hit my aunt, however much she deserves it," he said. He'd been about to add that at the time he'd thought that Petunia was his only living relative. He wasn't sure if he could tell them all that mess yet. "When Vernon came up I yelled at him as well, and he hit me. Just once, and he never did it again. I think it scared him more than it scared me."

"Was that the end of it?" Hermione asked. Harry sighed.

"Well, I hit the edge of my desk that time, and when I woke up they'd locked me up," he admitted.

"Bloody bastard," Ron grumbled. Harry glanced at him. Ron had really changed. Harry couldn't see him getting jealous over stupid things anymore.

It was probably partially Hermione. He had her now, so it kind of gave him the one-up over Harry. It didn't matter that he could, in all honestly, go out with just about any girl in the school, because Ron got the one that in his eyes was the best.

Harry thought that was pretty mushy, for Ron at least. He usually wasn't the one that was all emotional and that.

"Yeah, well Petunia shouldn't be allowed to have any pets," he went on. "They'd starve to death."

"That's why you're so thin," Ginny said quietly. Harry felt kind of stupid. It was like everything revolved around him. It wasn't like he hadn't at least a little brought his relative's wrath down upon himself. He'd certainly provoked them…

"Well, yeah," he admitted. "After about eight days I think I got a really good letter out to the Order with some hints in it. I hadn't wanted to risk really obvious hints before because I didn't want my relatives to get even more angry," he explained. "How is Hedwig by the way?" he asked. "She showed up the night the Order rescued me."

"She's good," Ron said. "I remember she did leave that night," he added. "I didn't find her again until the next morning, out hunting mice in the garden."

"Well, I had a bad nightmare that night, and then my Aunt came in. But when she tried to hurt me some sort of defensive magic kicked in and she got knocked across the hall," he went on. Ron grinned.

"And the Ministry probably couldn't trace it," he laughed. Harry shrugged.

"A letter never came about it," he admitted. "Petunia showed up with a golf club, because she hit Vernon when she was knocked backwards and knocked him out, but an owl from the Order had arrived, so I sent a note out with that." He sighed, unfolding a few more letters in order to read them eventually. "I still can't believe the best they could do was send me Snape while they worked out their plans to get me out."

"That's pretty cruel of them to do," Ron said with a grimace.

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "I pretty much just laid on my bed and he insulted me, laughed at me, mocked me, everything. At least the rest of the Order didn't take too long to show up." He left out the possession attempt. He didn't want to talk about that yet.

"I hear Tonks punched him!" Ginny spoke up. Harry nodded.

"After he was being a jerk to me again on my birthday," he confirmed. "I had a vision and she brought him so he could give me some potions, and then like usual he started in on me. I was really out of it…that's why Tonks and Remus thought I was brain damaged or whatever…"

"They told me this morning that you were acting really strange," Ron said. Harry remembered in the letter he'd gotten how worried Ron had been about it all.

"Well, I was kind of fuzzy on it all," he said. "It just was hard to talk. But then I accidentally rolled into Sirius's old tub, and Snape yanked me out. I think I might've surprised him a little," he added with a grin.

"Why?" Hermione asked.

"I started yelling at him to get out of my house," he told them. "Sometime after that is when Tonks hit him."

"Looky here," Ron said suddenly, holding up a letter and grinning. "This is from someone that you know!"

"Who?" Harry asked, slightly alarmed but also relieved at the change in conversation.

"Two guesses," Ron said, moving the letter out of Ginny's reach.

"Uhh…" he tried to think of someone, "Ginny?" he guessed.

"Wrong!" Ron laughed. "One more guess!"

"Uh…Malfoy?" he asked. Ron shook his head, laughing harder.

"H-hermione," he laughed.

"What?" he said. "You wrote me, Hermione?" he asked. She thought a moment, then suddenly her eyes went wide and she clapped her hands over her mouth.

"No!" she said. "I can't believe it!"

"What?" he asked.

She turned beet red. "You do not want to read that," she said. "I wrote you when I was ten," she explained. "Remember how much of a know-it-all I was then?"

"It is pretty bad, Harry," Ron warned him. Harry sighed.

"You can tear it up if you want, Hermione," he said graciously. He didn't want to read it if it was that bad. He could only imagine what Hermione would have said in her letter. It would be terrible, probably. And not worth the resulting argument or apologies or whatever.

Hermione gratefully snatched the letter from Ron—her _boyfriend—_Harry reminded himself, and tore it into little bits. "My letters now are much better," she said, shredding the letter even more. Ginny laughed and reached for a large envelope that looked very official.

"What's this?" she said. Harry got a bad feeling about that envelope. He hoped it wasn't another threat… Ginny looked up at him as she finished scanning the letter. Her face was solemn.

"What is it?" he asked, very worried.

"Harry, have you taken the time to consider endorsing Hairwizard's line of hair care products?" she asked very seriously.

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They ate lunch in the sitting room amongst piles of letters and envelopes. There were already two boxes full of letters that were too out-of-date to answer, and they'd chucked most of the envelopes since most people were good enough to put their addresses on the letters themselves.

Remus had found a copying charm and used it to copy the four basic letters that Harry had written as responses. One said a very polite no to whatever was asked, another said politely that he was not giving autographs at this time, the third was just a short letter about himself for those who just wanted to know a bit about him, and the fourth was for the numerous non-profit foundations that had written him. He'd decided that if he could, he'd donate at least a little to each organization that looked worth it.

There was also a thick stack of letters he'd kept out. From students at Hogwarts. He hoped he'd be able to at least get around to some of them and explain why he'd never written them back. Hopefully, it'd make a few friends out of people that thought he'd snubbed them before.

"And there's still all those other boxes," Ginny sighed as she swallowed the last of her sandwich. Harry sighed as well. They'd laughed when they'd seen how he'd tried to hide the boxes, and now there were still six boxes stacked along a wall. Six large boxes, full of letters.

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They gave up on the boxes after another hour. It wasn't too interesting reading the tenth straight letter just begging for the Boy-Who-Lived's autograph. Harry wanted to throw the rest of the unopened letters into the fire, but the others wouldn't let him.

"And I heard Remus say that your post from this morning is in the kitchen," Hermione told him. He groaned.

"I hate letters. I'm never writing anyone a letter ever again. Ever," he assured them.

They'd decided they'd go up to the attic and poke around, and Harry led the way, sweeping back cobwebs so they could get through.

"You won't even write us anymore?" Hermione asked. Harry sighed.

"No," he told them, joking of course. "No more letters. I'll use smoke signals or something. No letters. I don't ever want to see an envelope again in my life."

"WATCH OUT!" Ginny suddenly shouted. Harry turned back to face where he was going—just in time to see a ragged shape hurtle towards his head.

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A/N: Okay, so I like odd chapter endings. Still hanging in there? Thanks.

Thank you to:

Cornflake – Sorry it's so confusing. I'm not really up to date on all my HP lore, so if I have something wrong it's probably me that's making the mistake. I didn't know exactly how the Heir of Slytherin thing works, and I was just kind of having Harry thinking dark thoughts about his relation to Voldemort. I saw it as Tom Riddle Sr. had two sons. The elder being Harry's grandfather. But if that doesn't work out the way it should, I'll figure it out. I have all summer where I won't be able to review as much and where I will have access to the HP books. So I'll work on that. And sorry for the confusion…

Shadowsfriend – I know what you mean. I wrote a review to someone and ate it. I had to write out another, and it was really annoying.

Bukama – I know Harry seems a little 'wimpy' right now. But that starts to change. He had a really bad summer and kind of got knocked off his pedestal a little. Suddenly I think he's realizing just how terrible of a consequence his actions can have, even if it isn't all his fault. Just give Harry a little time to recover. As for the whole parent's image thing, Harry's just kind of overreacting to things. His dad ain't that bad, he's got to realize, and his mother is still the wonderful woman she was. That all sort of comes up in a later chapter where Harry's speaking with Remus about things. Of course, that chapter isn't even started and won't be up until sometime this summer, so you'll have to wait.

Numba1 – I'm glad you're glad. Harry's kind of in a 'bitter' stage right now. He's more willing to listen and do things than he was before, but that doesn't mean he's always happy about them. I don't like stories where Harry all of a sudden becomes dark and Slytherin very much, so don't expect him to head down that path. He's just growing up some more.

Also thanks to: Kjkit, lunalovegood61, oblivion13, Sambow24, ash Knight, Nadezhda, hedowl5, Faith-tse, and Catti. If I missed you, sorry! It's like three in the morning and my vision is blurry cuz I gotta go get some sleep. Thanks to everyone that reviewed!!!

Miss Laine


	13. House Elf Stew

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Duh.

A/N: Well, Harry never does seem to get a break, does he? Hopefully, this won't last… There will actually be responses to reviewers at the end of this chapter, so stay tuned!

Just to point this out, I understand I have grammatical errors in this, as well as some errors in canon things. I don't have a beta or anything, and it's hard for me to catch everything on my own. I'm just not that submerged in the HP world right now. I will work on getting more accurate with things, and the chapters that I do get up over the summer should be better, since I'll have like a week or two with each one before I post it. --Miss Laine

00000000000000 Chapter 13: House-Elf Stew 00000000000

Harry shouted and threw his arms up to try to defend himself against the sudden surprise attack.

He was almost fast enough, his skills as a seeker allowing him to get his right arm between his face and his attacker.

However, the sudden impact with his shoulders and head knocked him backwards, and he shouted again as he was pushed off balance. His left foot tried to find solid footing, but he slipped. He was going to fall down the stairs.

He only got about two steps backwards into his fall before it was suddenly broken. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had braced themselves behind him and caught him. So he wasn't going to fall down any staircases today…

He was still being attacked though, and now that he didn't have to worry about falling to his death, he worked on detaching the thing from him, hitting at the thing even as it clawed at his face, long dirty nails scratching at his face and neck.

Finally, he got a hand firmly against it, and just as its long claws raked across his cheek he shoved hard. The thing was dislodged and fell onto the staircase. "THAT'S IT!" he roared. His face burned badly because of the scratches, as did his neck, and his shoulders felt bruised. "THAT'S ABSOLUTELY BLOODY IT!"

"Oh, Harry!" Hermione cried out. Harry ignored her. He advanced on his attacker, anger boiling over.

"He's going, and he's going now, if I have to throw him out myself!" he shouted. His blood was boiling now. He hadn't been this mad—his anger shut off at that sudden memory. He'd been that mad that night he'd almost been possessed again.

Suddenly his anger was cold anger. "Harry, let's go—" Ginny started to suggest.

"No," Harry said. "This is my house. He's _my _house elf."

"Harry—" Hermione said, sounding exasperated. Harry didn't take his gaze off the house elf. Kreacher was staring up at him, a look of vague horror on his hideous face.

"Hermione, please," he said. "You may want to 'free the house-elves' or whatever, so I'm going to give you a little help."

"No!" Kreacher cried out. "Mistress, oh mistress," he mumbled. Harry slowly pulled his shirt over his head. It would mean getting another one, but it would be well worth it.

Although Remus had said that Kreacher dodged all attempts to give him clothing, Harry wasn't the youngest seeker in a century for nothing. Before the creature could jump more than a foot out of the way, Harry had lunged. He pinned Kreacher down and forcibly wrapped the creature in the fabric.

Kreacher started struggling wildly. "Someone get Remus!" he shouted. He heard footsteps thundering down the stairs.

Suddenly he pitched forward, head actually slamming into the steps in front of him. "Bloody hell!" he shouted.

"Harry?!" Hermione cried out.

"He poofed away, or whatever it is house-elves do!" he snarled. "Bloody hell."

"Where did he go?" Hermione wondered. Harry didn't answer as he shook out his now-filthy shirt. His head hurt where he'd smacked it on the steps, and there was blood on his face and neck, slowly running down to his chest.

"I don't care," Harry said as he stood up. "He's going. No more of this."

"Harry! I got Remus!" came Ginny's voice. Harry saw the two come running up the stairs, and Remus pushed past Ron and Hermione frantically.

"Harry? What happened?" Remus asked. Harry sighed. Remus was in worried-sick father mode.

"Kreacher," he explained. "Look—could we all go somewhere else?" he asked. "I want to wash up and find a new shirt, and then we need to talk, Remus."

"All right," Remus agreed, still looking worried. "I'll find some cream or something that'll heal those scratches right up."

"Thanks, Remus," Harry said gratefully. The others started down the stairs reluctantly, and Harry gave the spot on the steps where Kreacher had last been one last venomous glare before starting down the stairs as well.

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"Kreacher goes," he said firmly. "I don't care how. You can lop his head off or obliviate him or whatever," he offered. Remus frowned.

"You know we can't just free him, Harry. I was just joking about that earlier," Remus pointed out. Harry stopped himself from grinding his teeth.

"I _know _that, Remus," he got out. "But he's not staying here. He attacked me!"

After he'd washed out the scratches and looked in the mirror, he'd seen how close Kreacher had been to gouging his eyes out or something similar. There had been a rather deep gash along his left temple, stopped only by the stem of his glasses.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, thankfully sensing that this was a discussion that was between Remus and Harry more than anything else, had opted to open some more letters in the den and stay out of the way for a bit. Harry was very glad for that. He didn't want them getting involved in this.

"You know that Kreacher's somewhat senile," Remus said gently. Harry really wanted to throw something. Namely Kreacher…over a cliff…

"Somewhat senile?!" he repeated angrily. _"Somewhat senile?!!_ Remus, he's dangerous! You said so yourself, and so did Tonks! Either he goes or I go. I won't stay here with him in this house any longer!"

Remus sighed. "Look, Harry, I'll talk to Albus. I really will. But I can't promise anything."

Harry frowned. That was definitely not good enough. "Three days," he said. "Three days to come up with a solution, and if you don't by then, I'll find some way to get rid of him myself."

"Harry," Remus said warningly. "If you free him, he'd leak important information to Voldemort."

"Well, right now my blood's the thing that's doing the leaking, Remus! I won't stay in what's supposed to be _my _house if I'm going to live in fear!" he argued. "I mean it, Remus. I'm sick of him!"

"All right," Remus said, giving in. "Three days. And I'll try to keep an eye on him between then and now."

"I won't let this go away," Harry warned. "I've had enough of Kreacher."

Remus sighed heavily, and Harry knew he was remembering the part Kreacher had played in Sirius's death. "I know," Remus finally said. "Look—Mrs. Weasley's going to be coming over to help with dinner, so why don't you do something with your friends until then? They're going to have to go after dinner."

"That soon?" Harry asked, willing to let the subject change for now. He figured he'd made his point.

"Yeah," Remus admitted. "Molly's just worried about things. She doesn't like having her kids away from home right now."

Harry wondered what it was like to have someone care about you so much that they worried about you even when everything was just fine. It probably annoyed Ron and Ginny to no end, but Harry had felt rather flattered the times that Mrs. Weasley had really worried about him. "Yeah," he said. "We'll go find something to do. Where there won't be any Kreacher."

"Good," Remus said. Harry shifted a little as Remus put a hand on his shoulder in some sort of fatherly gesture, and then got up. "We'll listen for dinner," he promised, and then went to find his friends.

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When he got into the room, all three of his friends were on the floor, laughing uproariously. Ron had a letter in his hands. "…And…and…" Ron was gasping out, "T-then they want t-to know i-if he's g-going t-to…" Ron dissolved into laughter. Harry just stood in the doorway, arms folded. He figured he'd wait for them to notice him.

"Come on, Ron!" Ginny cried out. "Finish it."

"It's too funny, Gin," Ron gasped. "T-they want to know if he's…if he's going to _model!_"

Ginny started laughing again, and Hermione hadn't stopped. Ron dropped the letter, laughing too hard to sit up anymore. Harry knew his face was getting red, and he cleared his throat.

Immediately, the laughter stopped. "Harry!" Hermione said.

"Er—so what's up with Kreacher?" Ron said, recovering.

"Who was that letter from?" Harry asked levelly. Ron smiled.

"Some reporter from the Daily Prophet," Ron explained. "Wondering if _The _Harry Potter has any plans for his sixth year at Hogwarts."

"Great," Harry groaned. "Was it really that funny?" he asked. Ginny nodded, grinning.

"Funnier."

"Can we send them a howler?" he asked.

"Harry, you know that's not polite," Hermione scolded. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Does it look like I care?" he asked. "And Kreacher's going in three days or I'm making him go," he added. Hermione frowned, but Harry refused to defend himself. Kreacher wasn't a normal house-elf. There was something really wrong with that thing.

"So what're we going to do now?" Ginny asked. "Like 99% of these letters are really stupid," she said. "What do you usually do around here, Harry?"

"Besides have visions, get attacked by house elves, and read mail?" he asked sarcastically. "I haven't done much of anything." He flopped down onto an empty sofa, feeling drained. He'd done too much shouting and struggling and fighting already. He just wanted to lie there.

"Harry…" Hermione began. Her tone made him sit up. Something was up.

"What?" he asked, looking at her. She had a worried expression. "What now?" he wondered.

"Harry, Mrs. Weasley was acting really strange last night when we asked about you when she got back from the Order meeting," Hermione said.

Dammit, Harry thought. Now he was going to have to tell them sooner than he'd wanted. He wished Mrs. Weasley had just acted normal. "What'd she say?" he asked. Perhaps he could still get out of this…but he didn't want them to remember this later and know that he'd lied to them…

"Something about you never getting a break from trouble," Hermione said.

"What happened last night, Harry?" Ron asked. "Mum _was _all freaked out. So was dad."

Harry sighed. "I got a letter yesterday," he explained. "From some office at the Ministry," he added.

"What did they want?" Hermione asked worriedly. "Was it about Voldemort?"

"Sort of," he said with a bitter laugh. He hesitated. "Look—you guys might get freaked out by this. I—I won't get mad if you do."

"You're not getting shipped to Azkaban, are you?" Ginny asked. "You didn't kill anyone did you?"

"No," he said.

"Tell us, Harry," Hermione said, very serious now. "I promise I won't get upset, no matter what you say."

"Yeah, it's not like you're going to tell us Voldemort's your dad or something," Ron laughed. Harry winced inwardly at how close Ron was to the truth, and did not laugh with the other three.

Ron paled. "Y-you don't mean…" he trailed off weakly.

"He's my great-uncle," he said flatly. "The letter was from the Office of Ancestry."

"No way," Ginny breathed. She looked like she was in shock.

"Wow, mate," Ron managed. Hermione actually didn't look that fazed by it all.

"It actually kind of makes an odd sense," she mused.

"What?!" Ron yelped, sitting up straight.

"Well, think about it Ron," Hermione said. "Remember second year, and everyone thought that Harry was the Heir of Slytherin or whatnot?" she reminded them. "Well, obviously he can't be it still, but I did say that he looked a lot like Salazar Slytherin."

"Oh," Ron said stupidly.

"Was your grandfather his older or younger brother, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Older half-brother," Harry said slowly. "But he was a squib or muggle or whatever," he added. "He wasn't even a bit magical, because the Hogwart's registry listed him as muggle."

"Well, then Tom Riddle was certainly the Heir of Slytherin. If he had children…Merlin forbid…they'd possibly be the Heir, if there was any basilisk left to be of use in the Chamber, but your grandfather would be free of all that," Hermione explained. Harry felt a little relieved at that. He hadn't remembered all the lineage rules about the Heir of Slytherin stuff.

"So could I have inherited anything from him?" Harry asked.

"It's not likely. I mean, Tom Riddle's mother was a witch—and she isn't related to you at all. It'd be whoever your great-grandmother was," she said thoughtfully. Harry could see that both Ginny and Ron were still trying to catch up with this new information, and he was grateful that Hermione was taking it so in stride. "But if your grandfather was a squib, anything he did inherit would be really dormant. So I don't think you would've gotten anything from him. There probably wasn't much of a relation between your grandfather and Tom Riddle. Well, I mean there would have been enough for them to be half-brothers, but really wizard genetics are hard to figure out…"

"His name was Jonathan Riddle, I guess," he added. "Changed to Jacob Evans when his dad dumped in an orphanage. I think Tom Riddle Sr. must have been like a smarter version of Uncle Vernon," he mused. "He put the kid he didn't want up for adoption instead of hiding them."

"Are you all right, Ron?" Hermione asked. Ron nodded, closing his open mouth.

"Y-yeah," he said slowly. Hermione frowned at him, then smiled at Harry.

"Don't think for an instant that this changes anything between the three of us, Harry," she told him. Harry felt a lot better at her words, but it still remained to be seen whether it was really true.

"Yeah, mate," Ron echoed weakly. Harry was noticing that Ginny was just staring at him now.

"Ginny?" he asked worriedly. She blinked slowly.

"You know, you look just like _him,_" she said quietly. "If you took the glasses off, combed your hair differently, and frowned enough…" She trailed off.

Harry knew what she meant by 'him.' She meant the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle from the diary. The one that had made her first year at Hogwarts terrifying. "I'm not him," he said. She nodded slowly.

"Don't ever let that be you, Harry," she said in that lost and scared voice.

"I won't," he assured her. She nodded slowly.

"I—I'm going to go help with dinner," she said suddenly.

Harry sighed as she just about ran out of the room, never looking back. Ron shifted, looking nervous and uncertain. "She's just upset," he said.

"She'll be all right, Harry," Hermione assured him. Harry wasn't too sure.

"Give her some time," Ron said. "That whole diary thing was really frightening for her."

"I know," Harry said. There wasn't anything he could do to change what had happened though.

"Time's what she needs, Harry," Hermione said wisely. Harry nodded and turned back to looking at his friends.

"Are you guys really all right with this?" he asked. "I mean, I'll understand if—"

"Harry," Ron cut him off. "I know I've been a prat in the past and I've done some really stupid things, but don't believe for a minute that after all those times I'd _still _do things like that."

"Thanks, Ron," he said. Ron had been the one he'd really been worried about. Ron did tend to jump to conclusions a lot. But last year he hadn't as much, and Harry knew that he'd been the one with the short temper. Maybe they'd all managed to live through that stage now…

"Does this make things more dangerous for you, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry sighed.

"Dumbledore says it shouldn't, at least as long as Voldemort doesn't find out for a long while. If he did, it might give him enough time to figure out how to do something. But he doesn't know right now, and Snape's supposedly teaching me Occlumency again so Voldemort won't get it from me."

"What about us?" Hermione asked.

"It's the connection that makes things dangerous," Harry explained. "He can get into my head without being in direct eye-contact with me. If he were looking one of you two in the eye, then I'd have to say you're pretty sunk anyway, and it wouldn't really matter if he found out."

Ron smirked. "That's a cheery way to see it," he said sarcastically. Harry smiled thinly.

"Cheery times we live in, Ron. Voldemort isn't even enough. We have killer house-elves," he joked. Ron laughed, but Hermione frowned.

"They should admit non-human patients to St. Mungos, she said suddenly. "Kreacher needs mental treatment."

"They have MacNair for that," Harry said bitterly. "His ax would fix Kreacher good."

"Harry!" Hermione said. Harry smiled sheepishly.

"Sorry, Hermione, but you're not the one that almost had your eyes gouged out by a creature about as big as your left leg," he pointed out. Hermione just rolled her eyes and Ron laughed.

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Dinner was tense. Ginny was still pale and skittish around Harry, and Mrs. Weasley looked worried. She kept glancing at her daughter, then at Harry, then Ron, and then at Remus. She didn't say anything though.

Tonks was not there. Remus mentioned shortly that she'd been called away for something, and Harry just nodded to show that he'd heard.

Everyone ate silently. Hermione looked like she wanted to talk, but every time she started to open her mouth, she instead just took a bite of the casserole that Mrs. Weasley had cooked.

Ron kept glancing at his sister, a worried expression on his face, and Ginny studiously ignored him. She also did not once glance at Harry. Her face was closed, and she kept her eyes down, on her food.

Remus was keeping his nose in his newspaper while he ate. Harry knew the man was purposely ignoring the tense silence at the table, and for a moment he wished for Sirius's more exuberant personality to get rid of the silence.

Finally, halfway through dinner, he couldn't stand the silence anymore. He cleared his throat loudly, setting his fork down.

Ginny started at the noise. Harry wondered if she expected for Voldemort to suddenly come popping out of the kitchen or something, but didn't even look at her as he spoke. "I told them," he said clearly.

"Oh!" Mrs. Weasley said. She didn't sound _that _surprised, though, Harry noted. He'd pretty much figured from the way she was acting that she knew he'd told.

Remus glanced up from his paper but didn't say anything. His face did not betray what he was feeling either. Harry glanced at Ginny then. She wasn't looking up.

"Do you want to talk about it, Harry?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"No," he said. Immediately, he regretted his sharp response as Mrs. Weasley looked hurt. He remembered last night, when she'd been so worried about him. She wasn't being nice because she wanted to butt in. It was because she cared. "I—I already talked to Hermione and Ron some," he added.

"It's all fine," Ron assured his mother. "We're not worried about it."

"Ginny?" Mrs. Weasley said, immediately picking up on the real source of the tension.

Ginny looked up with a weak smile. She didn't look at Harry though, just at her mother. "I'm fine," she said. "Really."

"All right," Mrs. Weasley said, sounding completely unconvinced. "Ginny—" she started slowly, when suddenly there was a whooshing sound in the other room followed by a series of crashes.

A few moments later Tonks came into the room, shaking soot off her robes. She grinned. "Wotcher, Harry," she said. She gave Remus a quick glance, and Harry saw that the man was smiling amusedly.

"Sit down, Tonks, there's plenty of room," Mrs. Weasley invited. Harry supposed she was being so nice to the other witch because she'd been the one to make dinner.

"Thanks, Molly," Tonks said, plopping down in a seat. She took the offered plate of casserole and dug in heartily. She stopped between bite, though, smiling.

"I figured out the solution to your house-elf problem, Harry," she said.

"Really?" Harry asked, scooping another forkful of casserole and slowly chewing it.

"Yup," she confirmed. She gestured with her fork. "House-elf Casserole!"

More than one person quickly spat out their mouthful of casserole. "WHAT?!" Hermione squeaked, hacking and coughing. Tonks laughed sheepishly.

"I didn't mean _this _casserole," she said. "And it was a joke, anyway."

Harry smiled. House-elf casserole. It could work. "Did you come up with any real solutions?" he asked her. He deliberately ate another bite of casserole, wondering just what it'd taste like with house-elf in it. Ew, he decided.

"Well, Albus mentioned something about perhaps transferring him to the dungeons at Hogwarts," she commented, smiling.

"Can we give him to Snape?" he asked hopefully. Tonks laughed.

"They'd kill each other in a day," she said.

"My point," Harry said.

"Harry," Remus said. Harry rolled his eyes. Remus just loved to cut him off like that.

"Sorry," he said. He cleared his throat. "That's terrible, Tonks!" he said sarcastically. "How could you even think of being that cruel to a house-elf!"

Even Remus couldn't stop a small chuckle at that. "I think the best solution for it right now is to lock him up in some room he's happy with," Tonks said. "Albus said he could figure out a few spells to lock him up in the attic or something so he couldn't come out."

"What about eating?" Hermione demanded.

"Well, we'd have to take him something to eat every morning," Tonks admitted. "House-elves don't eat as often as people do."

It vaguely reminded Harry of his own days at the Dursleys, but then again, he hadn't been senile or dangerous. As if the Dursleys really understood that… "It sounds good to me," he said. "Although I kind of wanted to go in the attic."

"We could set up a room for him down in the basement somewhere," Tonks suggested. "Just give him some of old Mrs. Black's stuff to do whatever with, and then leave him there."

"Good," Harry said. "When could we do this?" he asked.

"It'll have to be a few days," Tonks admitted. "Honestly, it's not that high on the list of things to do, but Albus does understand, Harry. He's just very busy, you know."

"I know," Harry said with a heavy sigh. "If Kreacher gets too out of hand, though, I'm going to stun him and cook him up," he threatened. Tonks grinned.

"Sounds like a plan," she said with a laugh.

"Although," he added, leaning back in his chair. "I think you'd have to boil him," he commented. "He's rather tough-looking."

"Harry, that's not funny," Hermione said. Ron grinned.

"Sure it is, 'Mione," he told her. She glared at him, obviously expecting more support from her boyfriend.

"House-elf stew," Remus suddenly spoke up, a small grin on his face. Harry laughed.

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A/N: I gave this a title after I finished. It's just kind of funny interlude, with a few very serious moments added into it.

I'm sorry if Ron isn't totally IC, but I've never been a big fan of 'Over-Reaction Ron.' Fifth year he didn't overreact to things that much, I don't think, and although I understand how he could overreact to some things, I don't think he wants to jeopardize the friendship.

Just to mix things up a little, though, I made Ginny the one that's got a problem. I mean, she did go a whole school year terrorized by the memory of the man that is Harry's grand-uncle, and Harry does look somewhat like him. Don't worry, she won't blab to the school or try to kill him or something. She just needs some time to get used to the idea.

Responses to Reviewers:

**Thranx – **Yeah, Tonks is a little OC, but I just figured now she has a real reason to cook well and all that…partially because she likes Harry and wants to take care of him, and partially because she's got her crush on Remus. She doesn't want to look bad in front of him, I figure. As for Kreacher, well, he's already spilled secrets when he shouldn't, and there's not too much for him to say right now…but the way I see it, Dumbledore made sure that Kreacher couldn't get out of the house again or something. I mean, he couldn't tell anyone where Grimmauld Place was, I figure, so probably he's being kept from telling any more secrets. Something like that… The thin-Harry things is just that he looked pretty thin to his friends, who hadn't seen him since Hogwarts when he was all fed and healthier. So he looks thinner than he should, but not like he's just escaped from prison or something. He doesn't look like he's going to fall over dead, I mean. Just thinner than someone his age should be. Also, sorry about the cliffies. I don't purposely do them, but I like experimenting with things like that. Sometimes, it just works as a good stopping point. I don't purposely make it that way, though. Oh, and the Dursleys are coming up. Things start to come out about that, and Snape will be partially involved in that. Don't look for it to make too much of change to him. I mean, he's seen memories from Harry's life and he still hasn't changed. But perhaps eventually…

**Shadowsfriend – **Wow. Thanks for telling Shadowarwen about me! I've loved her story and I've been keeping track of her sequel. I'm really glad that you're enjoying my story as well, and I have to admit that reviews may become a little less often before May 7. I have three very nasty finals in two days, on May 5 and 6, but if they go well (meaning I'm not in my room crying or something) I'll write like crazy and make up for lost time. Perhaps get two chapters up to make up for that. I definitely won't be updating until the sixth. Finals come first, sadly. It is kind of difficult to go between 'Promises' and this story, just because of the differences between the characters, so sometimes I just read other stories on for a bit or some of my other unpublished stuff until I've cleared whichever story I was working on out of my head. I try not to let them influence each other too much.

**Thanks also: Ash Knight **– you always review, and I'm very thankful for that.

**Angel74, sambow24, Kjkit**, thanks also. I'm always happy when I get such great reviews. Although I feel terrible about being gone all summer… It can't be helped, though. Sorry!

--Miss Laine


	14. Another Occlumency Lesson

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. I think that's been established.

A/N: All right. You convinced me. One more chapter before I go home. Maybe two… I just couldn't stop myself… Anyway, I'm trying hard to get this done, but honestly I just started it after the last chapter posted, so it'll take me a while to get it done the way I want. Just give me a bit of slack with this one, all right?

BTW: Finals went OK I guess. Chemistry really does suck, though. My friend got an F on her chem. final, and I think I might've maybe pulled off a C. Who knows. Oh well, I'm just glad to be going home now!

On with the story!

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Chapter 14: Another Occlumency Lesson

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Harry watched the clock with a growing depression. The hands seemed to be moving much slower than usual, and each and every tick of the second hand seemed agonizingly slow to him.

Remus had left him alone after half an hour of tense silence. Harry was just happy Remus had gotten the hint and was letting him have some time to himself before disaster arrived.

Because Snape was due back in another hour. Because they had _another _Occlumency lesson.

The message had come with Tonks at dinner…though she hadn't told him until after his friends had left. Didn't want to ruin the meal.

Ginny had still been distant and fearful when she left and hadn't said anything to Harry, but he ignored it. He hoped she just needed a few days to come to terms with this, and then she'd be back to her regular self.

It bothered him some that Ginny had reacted like she had. But then again, he hadn't spent all of his first year possessed by an evil wizard bent on murdering a friend of his. Of course, he _had _spent his first year wondering just who on the Hogwarts staff was trying to kill him…

He'd caught Hermione and Ron snogging in the hallway when he was looking for them, too. They'd blushed and Hermione and pretended nothing had happened, and then they said goodbye and left with Mrs. Weasley. Harry had been kind of hoping that they'd be able to stay until later in the evening, but he was glad that they'd been able to come at all. It had been rather empty in the old house with just a few adults and himself around.

He was back in his bed…Sirius's old bed…

The photograph was back in his hands, but this time the images of his parents could not distract him. He was much too worried and irritated at the thought of another Occlumency lesson to be cheered by the antics of the photograph images.

Remus had looked like he wanted to talk with him or something. He'd left before the man had had the chance, but he wondered now if he should have taken the time to really talk to Remus. They hadn't had a chance to just sit and talk in awhile, and Harry really needed to sort a few things out with him.

Like about how far this guardian things was going to go. Because, in case no one else had realized it, he _was _sixteen now. He wasn't a little boy, and he was pretty sure that the things he'd done over the year proved that more than age ever could. No boys fought Voldemort one on one, alone, in a graveyard.

And he'd done _that _when he was fourteen. They couldn't call him a child after that, certainly. And so he didn't think that it was really fair of Remus to treat him like he was ten. Reprimanding him over little things like language and some of his comments didn't seem like a really fair deal. He didn't need someone breathing down his back every time he said 'bloody' or 'hell' or 'dammit' or any combination of the three words.

He also didn't need someone telling him what he could or couldn't say about Snape. Remus wasn't a professor anymore. Snape wasn't his colleague. So there was no reason for Remus to be defending him to Harry. He should be able to speak about him however he wanted over the summer.

Hopefully, Remus would understand that. It just depended on when they had their 'talk.' He didn't want to drive Remus away—he liked having that person there that cared about him—but he didn't want to be smothered. It was way too late for someone to jump in and be his overprotective father. What was there left to protect? He'd pretty much seen it all.

He understood that Remus hadn't ever had a child. That he hadn't really interacted with a child, especially not one that he was in any way responsible for. And Harry did understand that he was still legally a child. He just needed to be sure that Remus understood that though he might still be a child on paper, he hadn't been a child since he was one year old.

He'd have to have that conversation soon…as in sometime before he left for school. He didn't need Remus coming to visit him at school or something, wondering if he was doing his homework or whatever…

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He slowly dragged himself back down the stairs a few minutes before Snape was supposed to arrive. He did not want to get accused of 'being late' or 'taking too much time' or whatever. He also wanted to find a place in the sitting room where he could just relax a little and try to clear his mind. The memories of his mother were harder to concentrate on this evening, so he worked to just make his mind as clear as possible.

He barely noticed when Remus came into the room, slipping through the door just ahead of Snape. The werewolf took a seat near the fire, out of the way as before, and Snape stayed silent.

Harry figured he'd talk when he wanted to start and just kept up his thinking about nothing. It was a lot harder than he'd ever thought it could be, and he found his thoughts wandering to random things…like whether that Brown girl that had written him almost four years ago was cute or not, or what Ron was doing this evening.

"Legillimens!" Snape said, making him jump. He didn't even have a chance to get ready as the spell hit him, and instantly memories of Cedric and Sirius began to replay. Harry refused to let him win, though, and focused all his strength on getting his wand out of his pocket and aiming it at Snape.

"Protego!" he managed.

The shield formed, but was weak and just barely had enough strength to break the connection between Snape and him. Snape glared at him. "That was terrible, Potter," he stated calmly. Harry glared at him and stood up.

"Why, thanks, _sir,_" he snapped. Snape's eyes narrowed as he opened his mouth to speak, but then his eyes flicked over to where Remus sat. His mouth closed again, and he whirled around.

"You have no discipline, Potter," Snape said sharply. "You let your memories overcome you, and you refuse to let them be. They are just _memories,_ Potter."

"Well you try having them sometime," Harry said sullenly. "Sir," he added.

"We each have our own memories, Potter," Snape snapped. "You need to understand that they are yours to control!"

"I am trying!" Harry said, exasperated. "I try to clear my head every night, and I do it before lessons, too!"

"That isn't enough, Potter," Snape snarled. "Haven't you even _attempted _to learn anything about Occlumency?"

"Well maybe if my _Professor _pointed out to me that there are books on the subject!" he snapped back. "Maybe you're forgetting that I don't know _everything!_"

Snape took a step closer to him, and Harry felt a sudden exciting thrill. If Snape came any closer, he was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to resist taking a swing at the other man. Snape had gotten on his case one too many times.

Sadly, Snape seemed to be fighting a similar battle and slowly stepped back again. "I will send you a list of books to read next week," he ground out. "I suppose it will take you _months _to finish them all—"

"Severus," Remus spoke up. Harry worked very hard not to roll his eyes. Remus was getting a little too caught up in this guardian thing once again.

"I'll read them," he said quickly. "Maybe they'll actually teach me something."

Snape didn't miss the insult but didn't say anything about it. "Perhaps," he said. "You'd better hope that Dark Lord doesn't suspect anything, Potter. He will have no trouble getting into your mind."

"Yeah, well you haven't exactly been any help," he muttered. Snape seemed to have heard him, and Harry wanted to laugh, because Remus certainly hadn't.

"Let's try a few more times," Snape suddenly suggested with a grin that Harry certainly didn't like.

If the evening didn't end with someone bleeding, preferably Snape, he would be surprised. "Fine," he ground out.

"Legillimens!" Snape said, almost like he didn't put any effort into it.

Harry knew immediately that Snape had put everything into this spell. It felt like it slammed into his skull, shoving its way into his head, and immediately he was reliving the one time when he was seven and his aunt had smacked him for running away.

But this was different. When she smacked him in the memory, it hurt! And then suddenly it was his Aunt this summer, smacking him over and over. And each impact with his face felt just the same as when she'd hit him.

He got angry very quickly. What the bloody hell was Snape doing? 'Get out!' he shouted in his thoughts. Snape just ignored him though, and plowed through his memories some more.

Harry forced his wand hand up, seething now. "PROTEGO!" he shouted. He was knocked backwards as the connection was broken. The shield spell slammed into Snape, knocking him backwards several yards.

Remus was up in a minute, and Harry watched him come closer, looking worried. "Are you all right, Harry? Is anything hurt?"

"'M fine," he said, feeling a little dazed. His face hurt from the memory-slaps, and he felt drained. His scar was buzzing annoyingly, and the room kept tipping whenever he moved his head.

"So." Snape suddenly spoke up, coming forward with a sneer. "Potter fights back when someone picks on him."

"What the hell do you think you were doing?" Harry demanded.

"Harry…" Remus said. Harry just glared at him, ignoring Remus's slightly hurt expression.

Snape smiled coldly. "You seem to learn much faster when you realize you might get hurt," he said. Harry blinked.

"Occlumency can do that?" he asked. "You never did that before!"

"I supposed you would be slightly normal and wish to learn the basics of Occlumency before moving on," Snape said sourly. "I should have figured you wouldn't understand how important Occlumency is."

"Do it again," Harry snapped. He pushed himself up to his feet and held his wand up some. "Now."

"Fine, Potter," Snape said with a sneer. "Legillimens," he said, flicking his wand slightly.

Harry was caught off guard as the first thing that happened was an agonizing pain shot through his body. He didn't even realize he'd fallen to his knees until he felt the carpet under his hands.

His mind was a jumble of pain and confusion as he tried to reorient himself, and just as he thought he could manage to raise his wand another wave of agony overtook him, this time radiating from his scar.

He was burning up in agony…and then suddenly it cut off. It lifted away, leaving behind echoes of the pain that made his muscles ache. He struggled to get up, suddenly realizing that he was lying on his stomach on the floor, and then suddenly remembered where he was.

He felt Remus's hand on his arm, but he knocked it away as he shoved hard off the ground, lurching to his feet. "Blood hell." He stopped a moment to let his mouth get used to moving through the pain in jaw from clenching it. "What the hell was that?"

"You said do it again," Snape said coolly, holding his wand lightly as if expecting an attack. Harry frowned. He _had _said that, but he hadn't realized…

"You went back to _that _night," he snapped. "You knew that's not what I meant!"

"But that is what the Dark Lord will do when he wants to find something out from you. He's got plenty of memories of pain to work with. You'll give up everything he wants," Snape said. Harry glowered.

"I won't."

"You will, Potter, and you'll do it while begging for mercy," Snape said menacingly. Harry knew he was turning red now.

"You don't know anything about what I'd do, _sir,_" he snarled. Snape just sneered in return.

"I think I know just a bit more about it than you do, Potter," he said sourly. Harry had to breathe in and out a few times before he could respond.

"You've seen and heard plenty about what I know of Voldemort, sir," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice even. "And I think that just maybe you're wrong."

"I can see that there's no point in trying to speak with you, Potter," Snape said coldly. "I would advise not sleeping tonight, if you wish to keep the information of your ancestry secret."

"Severus," Remus spoke up mildly. "I believe Albus said—"

"I am well aware what 'Albus said,'" Snape said sharply, glaring at the other man. Harry stepped back a little so he wouldn't suddenly get the urge to take a swing at Snape and not have a chance to avoid it. "And I tell you that there is not much I can do until Potter here starts learning to clear his mind!"

"Well, maybe if you did more than just 'clear your mind, Potter,'" Harry grumbled. Both Snape and Remus glanced at him. Remus, with reproval, and Snape with a venomous glint in his black eyes. "I'm going to my room," he announced louder. "I'm assuming this 'lesson' is over?" He made sure that lesson sounded sarcastic.

"No, it isn't," Snape said quickly. His voice had dropped dangerous, and Harry wondered just what Snape had planned.

"Well?" he asked. "Sir?"

"We're going to do this again, Potter," Snape said silkily. "I _was _going to let you go, since the after-effects of the legillimency that I used effect you physically as well, but you've managed to convince me that you don't _want _a break."

"Fine…sir," Harry growled. He turned back all the way, raising his wand. "Go ahead."

He breathed out, trying to release the anger and other emotions that were swirling around in his head at the moment, but about halfway through Snape made his move. "Legillimens," he said.

There was a pain growing in his leg. Like something was holding onto it…like a blast-ended skrewt or an acromantula… The images of the day started to form, and Harry forced them back to blurry.

The pain grew, and then suddenly the pain moved to his arm, as a knife cut into the crook of his arm. There was pain from ropes, but he ignored it and forced the images of the bubbling cauldron that Voldemort had risen from out of his mind.

He thought he could see Snape in front of him now, and he felt a little jolt of excitement…perhaps he'd actually started to get the hang of this…

But then he realized it was another memory…the day that he'd looked in the pensieve and Snape had thrown him so hard he'd landed on the floor. He tried to force that image away, and focused on the outline of Snape that he could just barely see. "Furnunculus!" he shouted. What made him think of that curse, he wasn't sure, but it was the first thing to come to mind.

The images faded quickly, and he blinked a few times before focusing on Snape, who was performing the counter-curse quickly. "As pathetic as that may seem, Potter," Snape began when he noticed Harry was coherent again, "That was actually an improvement. You purposely used that curse?"

He nodded. He'd meant to cast that curse…even if it hadn't been the most amazing curse to use. He wasn't going to admit that he was pretty sure that only luck had allowed him to actually hit Snape with the curse. "That last image gave me a chance to focus on you," he admitted.

Snape ruined the chance at a few civil words by sneering. "You need to learn not to depend on what you're shown, Potter. You can't expect the Dark Lord to give you any sort of chance to fight back."

"I don't think _Voldemort _will care if I fight back or not," he grumbled back. He was still wondering just how he was supposed to fight back against Voldemort when he was asleep. It was much simpler just to take dreamless sleep potion or let Ron waked him up from visions. He usually woke up the dorm anyway.

"That's enough for this evening," Snape say suddenly, stepping away. "Again, I'd advise against sleeping at the hours when the Dark Lord is most active, and we'll continue this the day after tomorrow."

"Why not tomorrow, sir?" Harry asked, only slightly curious.

"I am indisposed," Snape said shortly. An instant later he was gone, and Harry's hand instantly went to his aching scar, and he rubbed it absently as he went to sit down.

"Is it hurting?" Remus asked. He started, having forgotten that the other man was there.

"It always does afterwards," he admitted. "And whatever he did made the memories he dragged up hurt, too."

"It's part of Occlumency and Legillimency," Remus told him, sitting down next to him. "I didn't realize he was going to start doing that, though."

"It's all right, Remus," Harry assured him. "I'd rather know about it than get surprised some night. I didn't even know you could do that with Legillimency."

"Didn't he ever give you any books to read last year?" Remus wondered. Harry shook his head.

"No, and I was too busy to wonder about it on my own. I didn't really understand why Occlumency was so important, and it was really bothering me that Dumbledore wouldn't even look at me," Harry told him, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

"You should probably get some sleep now, before it gets late," Remus said with a sigh. Harry pushed himself up from the couch, knowing Remus was right.

"Yeah," he said heavily. "When are you going to wake me up?"

"Eleven," Remus told him. "I'll head to bed then, and you can go back to sleep at four, all right?"

"All right," he agreed. He left before Remus could attempt to give him a hug or something else.

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He was flying, doing loops on his broom over and over.

And then he saw the snitch. He dived towards it, intent on capturing it before the other seeker. He was going to win this game. No way he was going to lose to…who was he playing? Slytherin? Hufflepuff?

He couldn't tell. The other players were little blurs, and they all looked wrong to him. He started to slow down, wondering who he was playing against now, but then suddenly the snitch zoomed straight towards him.

He dove out of the way, rolling to the left and dipping, and then suddenly he slipped off his broom. It streaked away and he fell, watching the snitch zoom around wildly as the wind whipped past him.

Any moment he would hit the ground…any moment now…

He rolled over as he fell, and the ground was rushing towards him much too fast…

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Harry woke up as he hit the floor. Somehow, he'd rolled out of bed. That was probably why he'd dreamed about falling off his broom, he decided.

He got up slowly, having to disentangle himself from the sheets somewhat. Then, he straightened up and cracked his neck back and forth. Just once, he thought bitterly, just once I'd like to get a few hours of sleep without having some strange dream or a vision.

"Harry?" came Remus's voice from behind the closed door.

"Come on in," he said, yawning as soon as the words were out.

"I heard a noise," Remus told him as he came into the room. Harry smiled as Remus turned the lights on.

"Fell out of bed," he admitted. "I haven't done that since I was little. The fall was a little shorter, though."

"Well, it's just past eleven now, Harry," Remus said. "Do you think you can stay awake until three or four?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"Sure," he agreed. "I can occupy myself for a while, I guess."

"We're headed to the Dursleys tomorrow, just to warn you," Remus said. Harry sighed.

"Yeah, all right," he said. "Thanks for telling me."

"It'll be Tonks and myself going with you," he added as he headed back towards the door. "And…Harry, don't get upset, but—"

"Let me guess," he cut in. The world seemed to be completely against him these past few days… "Snape is coming."

"Professor Snape is coming," Remus confirmed. "He told me an hour ago that Albus asked him to go. I suppose because he'd know if there was any death eater activity going on."

"Just keep him away from me," Harry warned. "I don't need to hear his comments. On the other hand, my relatives will probably hate him, so he can pick at them."

"It'll be all right, Harry," Remus said. Harry sighed.

"Sure," he said unhappily. "Go ahead and go to bed, Remus. I'm going to wander around and find a book or something."

"All right, Harry," Remus said. "Good night," he added, then left. Harry sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He was sleepy now, but couldn't go back to sleep.

Instead, he forced himself to his feet and slipped out of the room, bare feet cold on the floors. That would keep him awake, he decided. He couldn't sleep if his feet were frozen.

Downstairs, he went through the silent kitchen and back to the sitting room. He figured he'd poke through some of the letters that were still waiting to be opened and see if there was anything interesting.

As he heard a small noise, he checked to be sure that his wand was safely tucked into the waistband of his pajamas. He paused, listening, but didn't hear the noise again. It was probably just some sort of magical vermin anyway.

The letters were just as he and his friends had left them, and moved to the next box of letters, popping it open after a few tugs at the lid. Letters of all shapes and sizes slid out of the overstuffed box, and he sat down on the floor, hoping the mostly uncomfortable position would keep him awake.

There was one thing for certain, he decided as he read the fifth letter from a 'fan' of his. He'd have to find out once and for all if he really did have a fan club at Hogwarts…then he'd have to figure out a way to get rid of it.

The last thing he needed was students at Hogwarts trying to get his autograph or something. And what had been said about the locker rooms…he shuddered at the thought of being watched while he was changing…or worse, while he was _showering._ He half-wondered how hard it would be to find a disillusionment charm that would keep him out of sight while he changed and showered. It would be well worth learning if it saved his sanity.

_'Dear Mr. Potter,_

_My name is Cindy, and I'm part of my local Harry Potter fan club. I am the public relations officer, and the other girls asked me to write you a letter asking if you'd please…'_

Harry stopped reading with a groan. If he got one more letter from some girl and her fan club, he was going to throw all the letters into the fire.

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A/N: I know, I know. This isn't that great of a chapter, I know. But it just kind of fills up some space that I couldn't figure out, and shows that Harry might just be able to figure Occlumency out sometime. Next chapter will me more interesting…but alas! It won't be posted for at least a few weeks! I'm headed home tomorrow afternoon, and I will be almost completely cut off from the internet! That, and I don't have any more chapters done right now…

Review Responses will be at the end of the next chapter, whenever I manage to get it online. I'm working on the escaping-from-college-for-the-summer-only-to-work-full-time-thing.


	15. Dursleys and Magic Do Not Mix

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Duh.

A/N: Well, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny's visit was sort of brief, I guess. Sorry bout that, but ah well. They'll of course be around more at Hogwarts. It's just a very hectic and busy time right now. Thank you so much for your wonderful reviews! I'm sorry I didn't update all summer! But here's the next chapter, with more to follow very soon. BTW, i put up a few short things that i did. If they're any good, please review. Thanks. --Miss Laine

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Harry didn't dream again when he finally got to go back to sleep sometime around four in the morning. He'd spent several hours just reading through letters that he randomly pulled out of the box next to him, and for the most part they were boring and pretty embarrassing. Towards the bottom of the box, though, he'd come across several letters from 'concerned parents' of Hogwarts students that had written asking him to transfer to another school. They were all dated from sometime during his fourth year, when Rita Skeeter had been doing her best to make him look like a nut. He'd thrown those in the fireplace immediately. They didn't deserve any sort of response.

After he got tired of the letters, and even the awkward way he was sitting wouldn't keep him awake, he got up and wandered around some. The house was completely silent and dark, except for a few weak torches burning magically in some of the hallways. Most of the portraits and paintings on the walls were still as well, and it felt like he was the only one alive in the entire house.

He shivered as he tiptoed past the curtained painting of Mrs. Black, and hurried down the staircase to the basement. He could hear a soft shuffling sound coming from somewhere, and he felt for his wand before continuing.

The sounds were coming from behind a closed door. He put his hand on the door's handle, prepared to open the door, when he heard the sounds again.

"…evil master…stupid boy…going to…sleep…kill…" he heard.

It was Kreacher. They'd locked him up in a room, amazingly. His hand jerked away from the door handle like it was red-hot, and he backed up. There was no way he wanted Kreacher getting out. He retreated up the stairs, and then saw that the big hall clock said it was three forty-five in the morning. He could finally go back to bed.

He was nowhere close to rested when Remus woke him up at eight, and he knew that he'd have to master Occlumency if he ever wanted to get a good night's sleep sometime soon. His eyes felt dry and he had a slight headache, and all of muscles felt half stiff and half weak. Everything about him was telling him that he definitely needed more sleep.

Whenever he woke up, it always felt like he hadn't been asleep at all…probably because he was only getting a few hours of uninterrupted sleep with this schedule. Of course, if he tried to sleep during regular times, he ran the risk of getting stuck in a vision. Hopefully, Snape'd actually come up with something useful that wasn't a poison or whatever. He didn't want to imagine going through his sixth year with only three or four hours of sleep a night.

He looked at the picture on his bedside table for a few minutes while he got dressed, watching his mother and father talking and laughing. They looked just as happy as they had every other time he'd looked at the picture, and he felt a little pang of regret that he couldn't be with them. He pushed that feeling away, though, and hurried down to breakfast.

Tonks and Remus were already at the table and eating when he trotted down the stairs, tugging at the neck of his slightly too-large robes. They were ones that Remus had shrunk down for him, but they still didn't fit that well. It was much better than no robes at all, though, or worse—Dudley's old hand-me-downs. It would have been mortifying if he'd had to wear any of those old clothes.

They ate breakfast in tense silence, Remus sipping his coffee quietly while reading the paper, and Tonks nervously buttering her toast and eating her eggs. Harry didn't even want to look at the mail when it arrived, dreading another worrisome envelope, but there was nothing.

Except for more letters from fans. Somehow, news had gotten out that he was in fact sixteen now, and it seemed to mean that he was now fair game for any and all offers, requests, and questions. Harry was very worried about what that would mean for the volume of letters he received. He didn't want to miss the whole 'defeating Voldemort' thing because he was busy answering fanmail or signing autographs.

He ate his breakfast silently as well, glancing every now and then at the two adults. Neither seemed inclined to speak, and Harry was pretty sure they were listening for something. Probably for Snape to arrive by floo or something similar.

"Er," Remus said, clearing his throat. The paper rustled as he folded it back up, glancing at the old clock on the wall. "Professor Snape should be here soon, and then we'll all be flooing to your relatives," he explained.

"The fireplace is still boarded up there," Harry pointed out. Remus smiled weakly.

"Don't worry about that, Harry," he said. "It's been taken care of."

"Kinglsey cleared it up early this morning," Tonks said. "There's a fireplace now, whether they like it or not."

"My relatives aren't going to be happy to have us there," Harry said. "Is there anything we can do about them?"

"I suppose Professor Snape will be the one to keep them intimidated," Tonks said with a grin. "Seems to work with just about everyone else."

"At least he'll be good for something," Harry muttered, hoping it was quiet enough that Remus didn't hear.

The werewolf didn't respond, so Harry was pretty sure that he'd actually gotten away with his last remark. Remus would've scolded him for that if he'd heard, he thought and rolled his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else, but then suddenly there was a whoosh sound from the fireplace in the other room.

"Time to go," Tonk announced. Harry reluctantly pushed his chair back from the table and got to his feet while Remus stood quickly, folding his paper up and dropping it down on the table.

"Try not to get in a fight, all right?" Remus said.

"I'll try," Tonks responded. Remus glanced at her.

"I was talking to Harry," he pointed out. Harry rolled his eyes.

"I meant what I said, Remus," he responded. "He starts something, and I'll at least get a little in before he finishes it."

Remus blinked. "I _was _talking about your relatives, Harry," he pointed out.

Harry shrugged. "Well, same goes for them," he said.

Remus glanced at him again as they walked out into he hall and into the sitting room. Snape was near the fireplace, holding a jar of floo powder lightly. "Are you ready?" he asked, sounding bored. Harry frowned but didn't say anything. He'd try not to let Snape get to him…at least not yet…

"Yes," Remus said. "Let's get this over with," he added, taking the pot of floo powder from Snape and passing out handfuls of it. "You first, Harry," he instructed. Harry nodded and stepped up to the fireplace. "That'll allow us to go through the wards behind you," he explained.

He threw the handful of floo powder into the fireplace and squinted his eyes a little as the green flames blossomed upwards. "Number Four, Privet Drive," he said clearly. And then he stepped into the fire.

His landing was much smoother than the first time he'd used floo powder—he kept his feet, though he did stagger forward a few steps, coughing on soot and dust. When he finally managed to open his eyes again, he was looking straight into his aunt's eyes. A second later he was knocked sideways as she hit him hard.

When she tried to hit him again, he rolled away, getting to his knees and trying to get to his feet. He had his wand out, though he couldn't use it, and was just in time to see Remus step out of fireplace, wand drawn. "Touch him again, and I'll be forced to restrain you, madam!" he said sharply. Harry smirked, getting to his feet and coming back over.

"Thanks, Remus," he said. Another whoosh announced Tonk's arrival. Harry turned towards his relative. "Where are Vernon and Dudley?" he asked. Petunia scowled at him.

"They're out," she said shortly. "They didn't need to be around when you and _your kind _arrived!"

"We're just here for Harry's belongings, and then we'll leave," Remus spoke up. Petunia opened her mouth to say something, when the last of their group arrived.

"Oh!" she cried, instead. Harry turned and saw Snape standing there, scowling. "You!" she screeched.

"Yes, me," he said sourly. He glared at Remus. "The sooner we collect his belongings, the sooner we can leave!"

Petunia frowned. "You won't find any of it," she snapped. "I burned everything."

"WHAT?" Harry exploded, shocked. "You _burned _all of my school stuff?" He stepped forward, and Petunia stepped back. "That was mine! All of that was rightfully mine!"

She glared at him. "I know you think I'm terrified by you and your—your _kind, _but I'm not. I've had to put up with you for long enough! You're a disgusting disgrace, and all I've ever felt is shame for you!"

Harry stepped forward again. His aunt was glaring at him with narrowed eyes, face coloring with anger, but he wasn't going to let her words hurt him. He'd hated her and her husband and son for as long as he could remember, and he wasn't going to listen to anything she said now. "I bet that's what Lily would've said about you," he snarled. "_If _she had ever been that cruel!"

"I raised you for fifteen years!" Petunia shouted. Harry saw that all three of the other adults in the room were frozen and watching this little shouting match. "You would've died if I hadn't taken you in!"

"And you would've died if your _sister _hadn't been killed!" he shouted back. "She saved your pathetic, measley life that night!"

Petunia sneered. "Died protecting you," she said scathingly. "What a waste."

"She was your sister, Petunia!" he shouted back. "Your _sister_!"

"She was no sister of mine!" Petunia screeched. "Now get out of my house!"

"Did you really burn everything?" Tonks cut in, looking shocked. Petuina sneered.

"Even that bloody broom," she confirmed. "I won't have that—that abomination in my home anymore!"

Harry wasn't sure if she was talking about the broom or him now, and he didn't really care. "I don't have anything else here," he said, glaring at his aunt. "I can replace everything with the _gold _that my parents left me."

Petunia's eyes widened at the mention of gold, but Harry turned away from her. "Is that it, then?" Remus asked weakly.

"I'm going to check my _old _room" he said. "Just to be sure." He left the room before anyone could stop him.

He went around to the cupboard under the stairs and undid the latch. The door was stiff and swung open reluctantly, releasing a cloud of dust. He back up, sneezing once, and then reached into the small room to flick on the light.

It was surprising how much smaller the little room looked now that he hadn't been forced to live in it for five years. Where before he'd been able to stand with his head tilted down, he would now have to bend at the waist and hunch over considerably. His little bed still sat in the corner, covered in the very same blanket that he'd last used. The rest of the room was now filled with a stack of boxes labeled as Dudley's Christmas presents. That was all that would fit in the small space.

"Nice room, Potter," he heard. He turned to see Snape glaring down at him, arms folded.

He knew he flushed slightly, feeling embarrassed that Snape had now probably seen every last bad thing in his life. It was startling and embarrassing to know that he had no secrets from this man, of everyone. He pushed back the embarrassment though and stood up. "I'm sure it was bloody brilliant compared to where you lived," he shot back. Snape's eyes narrowed.

"One of these days, your mouth is going to get you into trouble, Potter," Snape said softly.

"One day," he agreed levelly, turning off the light in the little storage space that had once been his room. "And one day I won't be a student anymore. You won't have any authority over me then."

"You are an arrogant brat, Potter," Snape observed. "It's going to get you killed…or worse, it's going to get someone else killed."

"A little late for that," he snapped back, then slammed the door of the cupboard shut before storming back to the living room. He didn't care if Snape hexed him or ignored him. He just wanted to be away from the sour man.

Tonks and Remus looked up hopefully as he came into the room, but their expressions fell when they saw his empty arms. "I'm ready to go," he announced. "There isn't anything here."

"I'm sorry, Harry," Remus said.

He shrugged. "I didn't lose anything I can't replace," he said. Except for Sirius's first gift to him, he thought bitterly. That Firebolt had meant a lot to him. And now it was a pile of ash somewhere, burned up and gone.

He noticed his aunt was now sitting down, arms folded and looking cross. "There's one last thing," Remus said slowly, glancing at Harry a moment. "The night that we came here…"

"The brat got what he had coming to him," Petuina broke in. "First, _you _show up, uninvited and unwelcome, and then he has the nerve to talk back to me!"

Harry could feel his blood pressure rising, almost. "Just because I actually argued with you—"

"You don't have the right to argue with me _or _my husband!" she shouted. Harry breathed out slowly, through clenched teeth.

"I'll argue with whomever I damn well please!" he told her. "Fifteen years I spend in your oh so wonderful care, and for the first ten of those years I never argued with you even once! Because I _knew _that you could throw me out, and you would've done it, too, if you hadn't known that they'd coming looking for me!"

"It would have been better if you'd died fifteen years ago!" Petunia shouted. "Ever since you turned up on my doorstep, you've done nothing but tear this family apart!"

"Mrs. Dursley—" Remus tried to cut in, but Harry glared at him to shut him up. This was his argument.

"You're lucky I turned up on your doorstep, and Voldemort didn't," he said, keeping his voice cold and level. "If it had been him, you would have died very slowly, and very painfully."

"GET. OUT!" Petunia screamed. Harry turned, ignoring her shout.

"I'm ready to go now," he said, forcing his voice to be pleasant. He glanced at the three, noting Remus's angry expression, Tonk's rather shocked expression, and Snape's cold sneer. Directed at him of course, and not his screeching aunt.

Remus nodded and threw some floo powder into the fireplace. He spoke the destination softly and was gone an instant later. Tonks followed close behind, and then Snape gestured silently for Harry to go first.

He took the handful of floo powder from the professor without looking at him, and threw it into the fire. "Number twelve, Grimmau--uph!" he tried to say, but something heavy hit his head from behind. He fell forward into the fire, and with a whoosh he was gone.

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It was dark, wherever it was that he'd ended up, and he fell out of the fireplace with a loud crash, landing hard on his knees. He had no idea where his abruptly-ended attempt at an address had placed him, and, fearing the worst, he got to his feet and kept his wand at the ready.

He had to wipe his glasses off hastily with the edge of his sleeve, unable to see well through the grime on his glasses, and looked around in awe. He was in what looked to be a gigantic hall, much like the Great Hall at Hogwarts. Except that there were no tables, and the rafters were adorned with cobwebs.

And the hall looked to be about twice as large as any of the largest rooms in Hogwarts. There were narrow windows high up on the walls, letting in a small amount of light, but it wasn't enough to even begin to light up the gigantic room. He figured that they could probably play a pretty fair game of Quidditch in this hall, and even have room left over for the spectators.

He crept forward, trying to be silent on the stone floors. He felt terribly exposed, walking straight down the middle of the huge hall, but there didn't seem to be anyone around. The entire place looked completely abandoned, actually. He doubted very much if anyone had lived here within the past century or so.

There were no windows in the hall, so he couldn't see where exactly he had ended up, but he went out the huge entrance of the hall and looked around some more. It was just as dusty and decrepit looking as the hall he had just left, with rubble lying about and piles of dirt in corners. There were even a few ragged looking weeds in the corners, pushing up between some of the dirt-encrusted stones.

He tried the huge wooden door at the end of the small entrance area, but it was closed tightly and he didn't want to risk doing any magic. It wouldn't do to almost get expelled from Hogwarts this summer, just like the summer before. He also didn't want to attract any attention.

To the left, there was a staircase headed downwards. It reminded him of the stairs down to the dungeons in Hogwarts, and he shivered as he started down them, trying to let his eyes adjust to the darkness as he went further down.

He jumped when the first torch lit on the wall, but it was so reminiscent of Hogwarts that he was soon feeling better, watching each torch light as he went past them. All of the rooms that he passed were empty…except for a few cells near the end that held skeletons, chained in place on the walls. He wondered if they had starved to death there, or been tortured to death. Either way, dying chained to a stone wall in the belly of some castle didn't sound like the most pleasant way to go.

The staircase at the end of the hall through the dungeons led him back upwards, and he found himself in another entranceway. He tried the wooden door set into the wall, and this time it budged, slowly creaking open. It groaned loudly, the sound echoing through the high-ceilinged chambers behind him, and he hoped that nobody was around to hear all the noise.

Sunlight filtered in as he pulled hard on the door, and he was relieved to note that at least the weather looked nice…and that he wasn't in the middle of some huge forest or something. Hopefully, he'd be able to figure out where he was from the castle's surroundings.

And then he stepped around the door, intent on leaving the castle—only to skid to a halt, wavering and trying to keep his balance as he looked down, far down, over a huge cliff-face. The waves of the ocean seemed very far below him, tiny white lines on the blue expanse. He finally managed to teeter backwards enough to balance himself, and he stood in the doorway, wondering just where in bloody hell he'd ended up.

"This isn't helping," he said out loud. "Bloody hell," he added, more to hear himself than anything. It felt so quiet in the castle, eerily still.

His last words echoed around him, reverberating over the stones and through the entry-way, and as they died he heard a sound. Like a slithering sound, except much too loud to be caused by any little snake.

Immediately, he thought of the basilisk from second year, and the sounds that it had made when sliding over the stones in the Chamber of Secrets. This sounded much too similar, and his heart chilled as he realized that he would have to defend himself magically. There was no Dumbledore or Fawkes here to help him.

He took a step forwards, away from the open door, and raised his wand. The slithering sound was coming closer, getting louder. He was starting to wonder if perhaps this serpent was much larger than the one that had been in the Chamber. It sounded huge, like it filled up the entire hallway, and the sound was still getting louder.

He had just enough time to get a glimpse of two huge green eyes before he was knocked flying by a tail as big around as the largest tree in the Forbidden Forest. His wand was ripped from his hand by the force of the blow, and instead his hands scrabbled for the stones as he was flung straight out the still-open door. He tried to gain purchase on the stones, but he didn't have a chance. His fingers grazed across the stones, and for a few moments he clutched desperately at the edges of the door's frame. The huge head of the snake appeared above him, glaring down with those huge luminous eyes.

"Get out, boy!" the snake hissed. "You are not welcome here!"

"I didn't mean to—" he started to respond, but his hands slipped. The snake looked surprised at his words, though. And even as he fell, he looked up at the gigantic snake and wondered just how long it would take to hit the water, so far below him. It didn't look good, he decided, surprised at how clearly he could think even as he fell to certain death.__

The wind rushed by his head, tearing at his robes and ripping through his hair. He was gaining speed as he fell, and slowly he turned so that he could see the cliff as it rushed past him, barely five feet way from his hands. There was no way he could avoid his death now…

The water was rushing towards him, it seemed, and the waves were growing at an alarming rate. Any moment now he would hit. Any moment now he would be crushed as he smashed into the ocean moving at probably hundreds of miles per hour. He shut his eyes at the last moment, unwilling to see the last few seconds he had alive…

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When he opened his eyes, he was lying on a wooden floor in a pool of cold water. Remus was staring down at him, looking concerned. "Are you all right, Harry?" he asked. Harry blinked.

"W-what?" he asked, confused. "How did you find me?" he demanded. Remus looked worried, and glanced away a moment as Tonks came into the room. 

"What're you talking about, Harry?" Remus asked. "You fell out of the fireplace unconscious."

"But the castle…" he started to say. "I came out at a castle…"

Remus eyed him. "Are you sure you weren't just imagining it, Harry?" he asked. "You did get knocked out."

Harry lifted his head slowly and reached back, feeling the lump forming on the back of his head. "What happened?" he asked. So he'd just dreamt everything…but it had felt so real…the snake…everything.

"According to Professor Snape, your aunt threw a rather heavy glass paperweight at your head," Remus said. "By the time he tried to do something, it had hit you and you'd fallen into the fireplace."

"Lucky thing you got the address out, eh?" Tonk said with a grin. "Otherwise you coulda ended up in Bristol or something!"

"Yeah…" he said. He pushed himself up slowly, and let Remus help him to his feet. He still felt a little unsteady, but he wasn't confused, now that he knew that it'd all been a crazy dream. "I guess I'm just a little disoriented," he said.

Tonks smiled sympathetically. "You got quite the knot on your head," she said. "You should be in bed."

"If you sleep now, you've have less trouble staying awake tonight," Remus pointed out. Harry sighed, but he was feeling sort of weak.

"Fine," he agreed. "Either that, or I'd be stuck answering fanmail all afternoon."

"I'm going to head to Diagon Alley with Tonks," Remus told him. "We'll get your new things."

"I suppose I can't go," he said. Remus sighed.

"I know you're tired of hearing this, Harry, but it really is too dangerous. Diagon Alley isn't well enough protected for you to be there without more than half a dozen aurors around." Remus did look sorry, and Harry didn't argue again.

"Who's going to be around here?" he asked instead. He knew that there was no way that they'd leave him alone in the house.

"Kingsley and Hestia," Tonks said. "They were in the kitchen last I saw."

"All right," he agreed. "Thanks for getting stuff for me," he added. Remus and Tonks smiled at him again, and he retreated out of the room, hoping to get a glass of something in the kitchen before heading back up to his room.

He heard the fireplace whoosh again as he left the room, stumbling his way into the kitchen. Hestia Jones jumped up as he came in, and he smiled at her weakly. "Remus and Tonks went to Diagon Alley," he told her.

"What happened?" Kingsley Shacklebolt asked, coming from the dining room. Harry sighed.

"My aunt burned all my stuff," he explained. "They said it's too dangerous for me to go to get new stuff."

Kingsley frowned at the news, then sat down at the table and unfolded the very paper that Remus had left earlier in the morning.

"You look a little pale, Harry," Hestia commented. "You all right?"

"Er—my aunt managed to knock me out as I flooed back here," he said, feeling embarrassed. "I had this really weird dream…"

Hestia was looking at him with a decidedly motherly expression, so he plastered a better smile on his face. "I just figured I'd get a snack and then head up to my room and read or something," he said. No way he'd admit that he didn't feel so great.

"Actually," Kingsley spoke up. "I thought perhaps now would be a good time for an Apparating lesson."

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A/N: Here it is. Please review, and more chapters are coming in the days and weeks to follow. I said i'd finish this and i will. Hopefully before next summer. Definitely before next summer. --Miss Laine


	16. Apparating and Malfoy

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, nor do I have any claim to anything JK Rowling has created. I make no profit off this story, except in the form of wonderful suggestions and comments from my readers, so there's no reason to sue me.

A/N: Here's the next chapter! This is kind of a filler thing, just like several chapters coming up, but a few things that are important do happen here. Harry's got a lot going on, and I needed to fit these in somewhere. So tell me what you think, and I'll get the next chapter up a.s.a.p. Thanks!

000000000000 Chapter 16: Apparating and Malfoy 0000000000000000

"All right," Kinglsey said solemnly. "The single most important part of Apparating is _concentration, _Harry."

Harry nodded, listening attentively to the auror. Concentration, he told himself. Remember to concentrate. "Okay," he said. Kingsley grinned.

"Usually they make you learn a lot of theory stuff about apparition before they let you try it," he said, "But I never could remember that stuff. So we're just going to try a few simple practice apparitions, and then if that goes well we'll try something more complicated."

"What do I do?" Harry asked, ready. He was really hoping that this skill came easily to him, but there was still that little worm of doubt in the back of his mind. He could just seen it now…Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, unable to do the most common of magic.

"It's important to have a destination in mind when you Apparate," Kingsley told him. "As a simple exercise, you'll just look at the other side of the room, concentrate on it, and do the wand movement. There isn't an incantation for Apparating."

"All right," Harry agreed, focusing on the other side of the room. He held his wand up a little more.

"Focus on wanting to be on the other side of the room," Kingsley said. "Then flick your wand up and to the right slightly (he demonstrated once)," he explained. "That should do it."

"Okay," Harry said. He breathed out, focusing on the other side of the room, and then thought hard about wanting to be on the other side of the room. He flicked his wand the way Kingsley had shown him, and nothing happened.

Harry stood there, feeling stupid and slightly panicked, but Kingsley just nodded. "I didn't expect you to get it on the first try," he assured Harry. "Very, _very _few people do. Just keep your concentration and do the movement. You'll get it."

Harry nodded and raised his wand again. He flicked it just as he'd been shown.

And once again, nothing happened. "I don't think I'm going to get it," he said, after the fifth try. He raised his wand. "Am I doing this right?" he asked, showing Kingsley how he was moving his wand.

But about halfway through the wand movement, something happened.

There was a loud CRACK!

He looked around wildly, wondering what had caused the sound, and saw Kingsley was on the other side of the room, wand out and looking slightly…amused?

"What happened?" Harry asked. "What made that sound?"

"You did," Kingsley said, smiling. Harry suddenly realized that _he _was the one on the other side of the room, and he grinned. It had worked. "You put a lot of energy behind that, Harry," he said. "Next time try to tone it down a little."

"It worked!" he exclaimed, mostly in relief. Kinglsey chuckled.

"It works for just about everyone, Harry. I think you might have been concentrating _too _hard," he suggested. Harry nodded, then thought about what Kingsley had first said.

"How do you know that I put too much energy into it?" he asked, curious.

"The sound was loud," he explained. "It is usually quieter than that, if you do it right. Dung's the only one that never cares how much noise he makes."

Harry suddenly recalled the way Dumbledore had whirled and disappeared and reappeared silently while dueling with Voldemort. "So was Dumbledore apparating and disapparating silently when he was dueled with Voldemort?" he asked.

Kingsley only flinched slightly at the name. "If you apparate back over to this side of the room, I'll explain to you about that. It's a little different."

"Okay," Harry agreed. He concentrated again, trying not to concentrate too much, and this time he had apparated before he could do anything with his wand. The sound was just as loud, though.

"Good," Kingsley said. "You'll figure out how to tone it down eventually," he added. "Now, what Albus did was something a little different than apparating. It's much more difficult and requires a lot of skill. It's related to Apparating, but it's like a few steps up from it."

"Can all wizards and witches do it?" he asked, curious. Kingsley shook his head.

"Albus is something unto himself," he said with a small grin. "He can do things that most people could never hope to accomplish. Of course, You—er—Voldemort, is just as skilled."

"Great," Harry said softly. How was he supposed to defeat a dark wizard that was just as skilled as the most incredible wizard alive?

Although, he did kind of wonder how it was that Voldemort couldn't seem to kill him. He had had lots of opportunities, but every time he had failed. He knew a lot of it was just pure luck and had nothing to do with skill, but his 'luck' seemed to be staying fairly consistent. Silently, he warned himself not to come to rely on that luck. He _had _gotten other people killed. His luck didn't hold for them.

"We'll try this a few more times, Harry, and then call it a day. You're looking a little pale," Kingsley said. Harry frowned slightly at the auror's worried tone.

"I'm fine," he said. "I promise."

"All right," Kingsley said lightly. "Once more across the room, then, and then I'll have you try to apparate out into the hall."

Harry nodded. A loud sound later, he was on the other side of the room. This time, he really noticed that he'd apparated, and when he appeared he staggered slightly, feeling slightly dizzy. He straightened up quickly, though, and smiled. "All right," he said.

"Now, just focus on the hall, or even the kitchen if that's more familiar to you," Kingsley instructed. "Same as before, but just remember to keep your destination clearly in mind when you apparate. Otherwise, you can splich yourself, and that can be hard to clear up." The man smirked. "Besides, I don't want to explain to Albus or Remus why their boy is in more than one piece all of a sudden."

Harry rolled his eyes discretely. He _was _sixteen. He really didn't think he was anyone's 'boy,' and he sure hadn't ever been anyone's when he really _had _been a boy. For a moment, he wondered just how long he would have to live with this whole mothering and worry thing, and then he turned to focusing on the kitchen.

He pictured it as clearly as he could in his mind, and then turned a part of his thoughts onto wanting to appear in the kitchen. He held the thoughts as clearly as he could in his head, and as before when he went to do the wand movement he'd already apparated. The crack-sound seemed distant, somehow, but he didn't even think about it as he realized that he was in the kitchen now, standing just where he'd imagined he would be standing.

Kingsley apparated next to him a moment later, grinning. "Good," he said. "Some people take weeks to learn this much."

Harry smiled. It felt good to actually see the results from something…not like Occlumency, where things actually seemed to get worse with each passing lesson. He opened his mouth to say something, when suddenly his legs seemed to turn to water. He crumpled to the ground before he had a chance to catch himself.

"Harry?" Kingsley said worriedly. Harry blushed, pushing himself up to his feet.

"I'm fine, I'm all right," he said, getting up. He sat down in a chair fairly quickly, though, still feeling exhausted and weak. "My knees just felt odd, that's all."

Kingsley smiled sympathetically. "You're exhausted," he said. "It takes a lot of energy to apparate a lot, and you were still putting a lot of energy behind each of your attempts. It'll take at least a few hours or until tomorrow before you feel completely better. You'll just have to work on using less energy when you apparate."

Harry nodded. "When I was first learning to create my Patronus, I always got really weak and exhausted," he admitted. Kingsley nodded.

"Complex spells usually take a lot out of a person when they first learn them. You did a lot of apparating for it just being your first day learning, so it's bound to leave you exhausted," he agreed. "Do you need any assistance?" he continued, as Harry slowly pushed himself to his feet.

He shook his head. "No, I'll be fine," he promised. "I'm going to go upstairs, I guess, and take a nap or something," he told the auror. "I didn't get much sleep last night," he added. Kingsley nodded.

"Sure," he said. "Hestia's probably upstairs somewhere, and I'll inform Tonks and Remus when they return."

Harry smiled gratefully. "Thanks. And thanks for the lesson. That was really great," he said.

Kingsley smiled. "My pleasure, Harry. Anytime at all," he assured the teen. Harry nodded again and then turned and started out of the room for the stairs.

After he took a long, hot bath, Harry crawled into bed. His head was aching now, as if he hadn't slept in days, and his body felt heavy and exhausted. He didn't even have the time or willpower to even attempt the barest clearings of his mind before he'd fallen asleep.

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Voldemort was happy. That's what Harry realized first, as the heavy nausea that always accompanied Voldemort's happiness rolled through him. He thought he was going to be sick, but instead the nausea tapered off a little, keeping him from waking himself up.

"It worked," Voldemort said, sounding triumphant.

Harry still couldn't really see anything in the vision, but he realized that he wasn't seeing things through Voldemort's eyes. He was a spectator again, trapped in the vision.

"Now I will know when the brat falls asleep," Voldemort continued. Harry's stomach turned to ice in an instant. Voldemort knew he was there, and knew that he was vulnerable.

He didn't hear anything before the pain suddenly tore through his body. Voldemort was cursing someone…he had to be, to be causing Harry pain like this.

But he still couldn't see anything. It wasn't like he was seeing anything at all. Perhaps Voldemort was reaching out to him…

"Hello, Potter," Voldemort's voice came to him. Red glowing eyes appeared in the darkness, followed by the rest of Voldemort. Harry looked down and saw that he was on his knees on the ground.

He pushed himself up stubbornly, refusing to kneel before his parent's murderer, and Voldemort laughed condescendingly. "You really think that you can face me?" he asked. Harry glared.

"I've faced you before," he snarled. Voldemort didn't seem to like that response.

Without a word of warning, Harry again collapsed as pain shot through his body, burning up his bones in fiery suddenness. When it faded, he was on his stomach, breathing hard.

It took much longer to stand again, this time, and Voldemort just watched him, smiling coldly. "Only a little pain, a little _imaginary _pain, and you're on your knees," he commented. Harry's hands clenched into fists as he tried hard to control his anger.

"Get out of my head," he snarled. Voldemort just watched him.

"Get angry, boy," he said softly. "Don't you _hate _me?" he goaded. Harry refused to be baited, though.

"I won't let you possess me, Tom," he said.

This time, it was Voldemort's turn to get angry. "My name is Voldemort," he snapped. "I will not tolerate the use of my father's name!"

Harry grinned, mostly because he knew he was just asking for more pain. "What? Embarrassed by the name _Tom_?" he pressed. Voldemort glowered, and Harry didn't stand a chance as the pain threw him to the ground.

This time, he couldn't keep from screaming, and he lost himself in the thrashing and screaming and pain…

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He woke up clutching someone's arm. He couldn't tell who it was or where he was or when it was or really anything at all. His body was trembling, but he wasn't really in pain. It had all been in his head, this time, but it had felt so real…and now he just shook with shock and remembered pain.

"Harry." It was Tonks. "Harry, are you awake now?"

"T-Tonks," he stated. "What time is it?" he asked. He felt cold. He couldn't tell if he was trembling or shivering now. The sheets were like ice on his skin.

"It's a little past one in the afternoon," she said. "You've been asleep a few hours now." She paused, shifting slightly, and he was unable to stop the heavy shivers as the duvet slipped down a little, letting cold air hit his shoulders.

That's right, he remembered distractedly. He'd fallen asleep in just his pajama pants. "I'm so cold," he said.

The duvet was pulled back up almost instantly. "Sorry there, Harry," Tonks said. "I heard you screaming," she added, trying to sound casual.

"I had a vision, sort of," he admitted. "Voldemort just talked to me though, and it was black all around us."

"Are you in pain?" she asked, alarmed sounding.

"No, no," he said quickly. "It was all in my head this time, I think," he said. "Except I'm so cold…"

"That'll pass, I suppose," Tonks said. "At least you don't sound half outta your mind or anything," she added, trying to be humorous. Harry laughed weakly once.

"Yeah," he said. "I'm still able to make complete sentences this time. No getting Snape."

"Remus and I got your stuff," she said, changing the subject. Harry nodded, but he was starting to feel ridiculous, leaning against Tonks like this with her arm around him. But just as he felt embarrassed, he suddenly wondered if this was how his mother would have held him if he'd had a nightmare…

He pushed away abruptly, unwilling to dwell on that thought, and Tonks let him go. He still felt weak and wobbly, but he managed to sit up and turn so that he was halfway facing Tonks, the blankets all wrapped around himself. "Where is he now?" he asked, trying to cover the sudden silence.

"Business with Albus," she said with a sigh. "Not too sure what's going on this time."

"Are Hestia and Kingsley still around?" he asked. He didn't want to know that they'd heard him screaming as well.

"They left when I returned," Tonks assured him. "An hour or so ago. There's a lot going on right now."

Harry felt a little embarrassed. The two aurors had been here only because he was here. Playing babysitter to him because he couldn't keep his relatives in line and Voldemort out of his head. He resolved to try to be more helpful and less stubborn with the other aurors, so they didn't feel like they were wasting their time as much. "I'm feeling better," he said.

He said it just to reassure her, really, but it was mostly true. His shaking had stopped, and he was warming up again. He reached around to the side of the bed and found his glasses and slipped them on his face. "So do you want some lunch, then?" Tonks asked him.

"Sure," he agreed. He still felt incredibly tired and would have liked nothing more than to go back to sleep, but he didn't want Tonks telling Remus that he was sick or hurt or something.

He got out of bed and slipped on a shirt before following Tonks out of the bedroom and back down to the kitchen. It really was empty, though there were two half-full teacups on the table.

Perhaps Hestia and Kingsley hadn't left just because. More likely, there had been an emergency. He frowned at the thought of Remus and the others all out there fighting and risking their lives, while he was stuck here, eating lunch and being babysat. Sitting down, he tried to push that thought from his head. It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't like he could've stayed at his relatives. His aunt probably would have eventually gotten up the courage to kill him in his sleep.

"Here we are," Tonks said, putting together a plate of sandwiches quickly. She sat down, and Harry rather reluctantly took a sandwich and started eating. He wasn't feeling that hungry.

"So," he said after he finished just half a sandwich. Hopefully, if he talked enough, Tonks wouldn't notice if he didn't eat very much. "When did you suddenly become a good cook?" he asked. He'd been wondering this for quite some time now—the last he'd remembered, Tonks had been a terrible cook and even worse at any 'housey' spells. She was still clumsy and broke things every now and then, but her cooking was pretty good.

Tonks grinned at him. "Found a reason to cook good, I guess," she admitted. Harry wondered if the name of that reason might start with an 'R' and end with an 'S,' but he didn't push it. "Besides, someone has to make sure that you gain some weight," she added. He grimaced.

"I eat as much as I can, really," he told her. "But there's only so much my stomach can digest in one day."

Tonks laughed, starting on her third half-sandwich. Harry slowly took another, seeing her slightly concerned look disappear as he took a bite. "I hear Kingsley gave you an Apparating lesson," she commented. He nodded, swallowing.

"Yeah," he said. "He helped me do a few simple apparating exercises," he explained. "He said I put too much energy into the apparations, though," he added. "It really wore me out."

"That'll get better with practice," Tonks assured him. "You just have to get used to using the right amount of energy for each attempt. Then you won't wear yourself out."

"Yeah," he said. "How come I'm allowed to learn to Apparate while I'm here, but I can't do any other magic?" he asked curiously. Tonks grinned.

"Apparating doesn't count, cuz you don't have to use a spell," she explained. "It's like accidental magic," she tried. "It doesn't count."

Harry remembered that he'd never gotten into any trouble over blowing up his aunt before third year…a lot of that had been political, but then again he didn't remember ever receiving a letter from the misuse of magic office, and he knew that they were pretty good about delivering their letters.

Dobby's use of magic before second year had gotten him in trouble, but he supposed that had more to do with Dobby _wanting _him to be expelled from Hogwarts than anything else. He'd probably done something so that the magic looked deliberate. A…Hover Charm, or whatever it had been.

"So I suppose animagi-related magic doesn't get noticed, too," he commented. Tonks nodded, grinning.

"Apparating, animagi, me," she said, changing her hair color to prove her point. "I don't use a spell, so they don't notice." She changed her hair back to dark blonde. Harry grinned. At least his holiday wasn't going to be a complete waste.

"Do you think there was an attack?" he asked, eyeing the teacups left on the table. Tonks sighed.

"Dunno," she admitted. "I doubt it—Voldy doesn't usually attack during the day—but something else coulda come up."

"I feel like I'm being babysat," he told her, frowning. "I may not be out of Hogwarts yet, but I'm not a little boy."

"It's not like that," Tonks said. Harry sighed this time, frustrated.

"What is it like, then? Is it because I have--. Because I have to be the Boy-Who-Lived?" he asked. He'd almost said 'because I have to kill Voldemort,' but at the last moment he'd remembered that Tonks probably didn't know the Prophecy. That would be too much of hint, to say that.

"Harry, you mean a lot more to us than you seem to think," Tonks said.

"Thanks," Harry said, rolling his eyes, "But—"

He was interrupted as there was a whoosh sound from the other room, and then several shouts. Tonks was up in an instant, wand out. Her chair clattered over backwards, but she didn't trip over it. "Stay here, Harry," she said. Harry got to his feet.

"What—" he started to say.

"Stay!" she said, and then was out the door. Harry almost followed her, but then forced himself to stay in the room, like she'd told him to. He still didn't feel that good, and if it was Death Eaters or something they'd come looking for him eventually.

He told himself that he heard fighting, there was no way he'd leave Tonks in there alone, but it didn't come to that.

"Harry?"

Harry turned. Kingsley was in the doorway. "You're back," he commented. Kingsley nodded but did not smile.

"Come on, Harry," Kingsley said. Harry followed the auror, worried, and found Tonks, Hestia, Bill, and another wizard in the sitting room by the fireplace.

"Where's Remus?" he asked. Tonks looked ill.

"He's hurt," she said weakly.

"He's at Hogwarts," Hestia supplemented. "So's Charlie."

"What happened?" he asked.

"A little run-in with a half-dozen Death Eaters," Hestia said. "We arrested three, but the rest got away. Remus and Charlie were both injured."

"Are they all right?" he asked. Hestia nodded after a little hesitation.

"Remus took a pretty nasty curse to the neck, and Charlie got hit with some sort of dark spell. They should be all right, though," she explained.

"Can I see him? Can I go see how they are?" he asked. Tonks smiled thinly.

"We're all going," she said. "Albus said it's okay for you to come as well."

"We have two minutes left before the floo opens at Hogwarts," the strange wizard announced, looking at a pocket watch. Harry took the floo powder that Kingsley poured into his hand, and then stood back a bit.

Tonks looked older and more worried than he'd ever seen. She must really have something for Remus, he decided, for his being hurt to make her this upset. He'd have to make sure that Remus knew how upset Tonks had been, if she didn't tell him herself.

Bill was pretending that he wasn't worried, smiling and chatting with the others as usual, but Harry could see that his eyes kept darting to the fireplace, waiting for when he'd be able to see how his brother was doing.

"All right, time," the wizard said. He threw his handful of floo powder into the fire. "Hogwarts, Great Hall," he said clearly. He stepped into the fire and was gone.

Harry went right after Tonks—they were still all guarding him, even for this. It irritated him slightly, but he didn't object. The sooner that he could find out whether Remus was okay, the better.

The floo trip was just as awful as all of the other times, and he staggered out of the huge fireplace in the Great Hall coughing up soot and dirt. He felt hands on him. "Wotcher, Harry," Tonks said. He took his glasses off and wiped them clean, while Tonks spelled the soot off both his and her robes.

He smiled his thanks, and then they hurried towards the infirmary, others behind them. The old castle felt so familiar to Harry, that even in his hurry he paused a moment just to savor the feeling of the magic in the castle.

Remus was lying in the bed nearest to the doors. He looked pale but was unmarked, and Harry couldn't see any sign of Remus's injuries. The blankets on the bed pulled up to his shoulders. Madame Pomfrey was by him, checking him with her wand.

"He'll be fine," she said, seeing their worried expressions. "Just asleep now."

"You sure?" Tonks asked worriedly. "He's so pale…"

"He's fine," Pomfrey said again, sternly. "Just give him a few days to recover all the way, and he'll be himself in no time."

"How's Charlie?" Harry asked. Remus looked like he was going to be okay.

"Awake," came Charlie's voice. Harry looked past Remus's bed to where Charlie lay, half sitting up and propped on some pillows. Bill was already next to him. "Albus will be here to talk soon," he added, glancing at Harry.

Harry knew what that meant, and before anyone could say anything to him he spoke up. "I know, I know," he said. "I'll be in the Great Hall or something," he said.

"Thanks," Tonks said softly. Harry just rolled his eyes and left. He'd stay out of their way as much as he could, but he didn't have to like it.

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He was looking down at his shoes as he walked along, headed back towards the Great Hall as best as he could figure, when he was stopped by a cold and maddeningly familiar voice.

"Potter."

Harry looked up and to the left, and, sure enough, Draco Malfoy himself was standing in the hall, looking taller and colder than ever. "Malfoy," he said calmly in return, though his left hand did creep back to check that his wand was close by. Just in case he needed it.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" Malfoy asked, stepping closer. Harry shrugged, refusing to let Malfoy get him upset.

"Could ask you the same thing," he commented. "I'm just visiting a friend."

"I told you I'd make you pay for what you did to my father," the other teen snapped. Harry smiled humorlessly.

"I didn't do anything to him, Malfoy," Harry said. "He did it to himself. He's in Azkaban because he's a Death Eater."

Malfoy was now just two feet from him. "My father is in prison because of you!"

"Sure," Harry said. "Whatever you want to believe."

"Did you know that the Ministry took away my mansion because of you?" Malfoy asked, voice getting tense. Harry smiled again, wondering just how wound he could get Malfoy to become.

"Yeah?" he said. "Nope, hadn't heard about that, but thanks for telling me."

Malfoy smiled slyly suddenly, his anger vanishing in an instant. Harry felt a little twist in his stomach. What was Malfoy up to now? "At least _I _have a mother to stay with. And she's wealthy enough on her own," Malfoy drawled, smirking. "Your worthless mother got herself killed. And of course you were shunted off with some _muggles_So much for being famous, huh?"

Harry glared. "At least my mother wasn't a Death Eater's whore," he snapped. It felt good to finally get a chance to say something back to Malfoy for his comments at the Quidditch match the year before.

The fist caught him before he had a chance to do anything. His last insult had been just a bit over the line, he decided abstractedly. But Malfoy had really been asking for it.

He'd expected Malfoy to go for his wand and cast some curse, like he usually did, so this attack caught him a little by surprise.

The punch hit him hard just left of his nose, and the force of it knocked him backwards, onto his butt. His left hand flew up to his suddenly-bleeding nose, but he didn't have a chance to get up or say a word, because Malfoy had jumped on top of him now, straddling his stomach in order to hit him again, this time high on his right cheek.

"OW!" Harry shouted, past annoyed and very much angry now. He bucked hard, knocking the teen off of him when the third punch hit him in the side of the head, and then launched himself on Malfoy, punching him hard in the jaw. He didn't even notice at the time that his vision had slid out of focus. He was just intent on tearing apart the teen in front of him.

Malfoy responded by kneeing him hard in the side, but then he hit Malfoy again, right in the teeth. Hopefully, he thought grimly, he'd knocked a few loose. "Get off me, Potter!" Malfoy shouted, shoving. Harry was knocked onto his back, too dazed from the previous punches to stay sitting on Malfoy.

A second later, Malfoy was back on top of him, trying to punch him again. Harry threw up an arm defensively, and the first fist glanced off—but the other hit him hard in the eye. He saw stars, for probably the second or third time, but shook it off enough to throw his own punch.

Malfoy seemed to be pretty exhausted now—he knew he was—and the blow knocked him off Harry and onto the ground. Harry didn't have the strength to go after Malfoy again, and they just lay there, both panting and fingering their various injuries.

"This isn't over," Malfoy finally said. "By the end of this year, you'll be sorry you ever messed with me."

"Get a life, Malfoy," Harry said tiredly, massaging his left eye. Suddenly, he realized that his glasses were missing. Luckily, they'd been knocked off at some point, he realized, or else they would've gotten smashed on his face.

He lay there, wondering where they would have gone, and tried to get the world to stop tipping over sideways. Finally, it seemed to calm down a little and he pushed himself up with his hands. "You'd better hope your pathetic friends always have you around," Malfoy growled. Harry decided to take that as a compliment rather than a threat. He looked over at the blur that was Malfoy and smiled grimly.

"Hope you can get those teeth fixed," he said, unable to actually _see _whether any of them were knocked loose. He heard Malfoy growl, and watched the blur get up. Then, he heard a rather nasty sounding crunch.

"Your glasses are over here, Potter," Malfoy said nastily, then stalked off. Harry sighed and got to his knees, crawling over to where he'd heard the crunching sound and gathering up the various bits of his glasses. They'd been through the mill so many times, he almost felt like apologizing to them for getting smashed. Again.

When he tried to stand up the first time, his knees wobbled and he slid back down to the ground. The second try, though, he made it to his feet and he started back in the direction of the infirmary. He knew he couldn't hide his injuries from anyone, but at least Pomfrey could heal them up fairly quickly.

"Harry? What happened to you?" a blur somewhere in front of him said. It sounded like Bill, though, and the hair did look kind of reddish.

He smiled. "Argument," he explained. The blur came closer, and he saw that it really was Bill. "Since when is Draco Malfoy here at Hogwarts?" he asked. Bill smiled flatly and took Harry's mangled glasses.

"Reparo," he said, and Harry slipped on the now-whole glasses, happy to have the world back in focus. "Draco Malfoy's here because he's 'at risk,' or something," Bill said. "Albus explained something about him and his mother being here for protection." Bill glanced at him as they headed the rest of the way to the infirmary. "Why were you fighting with him?"

"Er—" Harry said, feeling kind of stupid. "Well, he said something, and I said something back, and after a few more insults he hit me, and then I went after him," he tried to explain. It all seemed kind of silly now.

"Who won?" Bill asked casually. Harry laughed.

"I think it was a tie," he said. "Malfoy got up first, but I got the last punch in."

"If he looks half as bad as you do, I'm surprised he's walking," Bill commented. Harry glanced at the red-haired man.

"Really?" he asked. "Do I look that bad?"

"You're going to have a black eye, your nose is swollen and bloody, there's a cut below your right eye, and a big bruise by your left," Bill described. "And I'd better warn you—Madame Pomfrey's pretty busy right now, so she might not heal you right away."

Harry grinned, taking Bill by surprised, judging on his expression. "As long as Malfoy has to stay unhealed, too," he said. "I think I might've broken a few of his teeth," he explained. Bill shook his head, but he was grinning.

"I never would've thought you'd be the type to get into fistfights," he admitted. "You were pretty quiet when I first met you. That was just two years ago."

Harry remembered his summer after third year, when he'd went to the Weasley's before the Quidditch World Cup. He guessed he had been pretty quiet for a fourteen year old. "I'm just getting tired of Malfoy's mouth," he said. "And I'm tired of feeling useless and helpless all the time. And besides, when you first met me, I hadn't just seen another teenager murdered and escaped from Voldemort."

Bill looked a little worried, and Harry rolled his eyes. "Stop it," he said.

"What?" Bill asked.

"Don't start the pity thing, or the 'worried I'm going to explode' thing," he instructed. "I'm not made of glass, and I'm not going to fall to pieces all of a sudden. I didn't do it after fourth year—well, at least not the falling apart thing, anyway—, and I'm not going to do it now."

"At least you're still well enough to get a tie in a fight," Bill said, amused. "Come on," he said. "Let's see if Poppy'll heal you."

Harry nodded and followed Bill into the infirmary, readying himself for everyone else's reactions. Hopefully, he thought guiltily, Remus would still be asleep.

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Remus still hadn't woken up by that evening, and Tonks told Harry that they were staying the night at Hogwarts. Harry had agreed eagerly, hoping to stay in his dorm room, but Tonks told him that the dorms were kept locked up during the summers.

Pomfrey had quickly healed most of his injuries, too, and only the faintest remnants of his black eye remained on his face. It didn't hurt, though, so he really didn't care.

"I told Albus about your vision thing this afternoon," Tonks told him. "He has Professor Snape working full time on a way to stop this. He says Voldy's got some sort of alarm thing set up that tells him when you've fallen asleep, and probably Occlumency won't do much more than keep him from learning anything from you unwillingly. Otherwise, you're still vulnerable."

"So what do I do?" he asked.

Tonks held out three vials of an orange-ish potion. "It's sort of like pepper-up potion," she explained, "but its effects are milder and last longer. It should keep you from falling asleep at all tonight."

"So I just stay awake all night and as long as it takes to find a way to stop the visions?" he asked, incredulous. Sure, he was sort of leery of going back to sleep after his short nap in the afternoon, but he did want to sleep eventually.

"Something like that," Tonks agreed with a weak grin. He took the vials reluctantly, pocketing them. He'd drink one when he started to feel sleepy. "Professor Snape may be a greasy git, Harry, but he knows his potions."

"Sure, whatever," he grumbled, stomping out of the infirmary. He had no idea what to do to fill up time, but he wandered around anyway, going up and down staircases at random. It was going to be a long, long, night, he decided.

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A/N: Just remember to review, I guess. Thank you to:

**Catti****, Loony, Lilypotterfan, lashajayne, Numba1, **and** Rini savian-jin**. Your reviews mean a great deal to me!


	17. Harry's Worst Memory

Disclaimer: See all previous chapters.

A/N: This chapter sees a little movement of the plot, though it's not much more than a few mentions. You'll see where it goes eventually, and I really do have some pretty good scenes for later chapters. If anything, keep reading until I get to those. Please hang with me—Harry'll be getting back to Hogwarts in five chapters or less, and then things will really begin to heat up. Harry's in for a rough year, I have to say. --Miss Laine

00000000000 Chapter 17: Harry's Worst Memory 00000000000000000

After a very long and boring night, in which he did little more than wander about the castle and check up on Remus every now and then, Harry was more than ready to have a solution to his problems, even if it meant asking Snape for it. The eight hours from eleven to seven had been almost torturous after just a short time—there was very little to do in an empty castle, and he kept randomly stumbling into rooms that had aurors sleeping in them, their official robes draped across furniture as they slept in just their pants and shirts.

Remus woke up around six in the morning, looking pale and groggy but otherwise healthy. His first comment was to ask if anyone had gotten the number of that hippogriff and then groan. Tonks showed up almost immediately, seeming to somehow sense that Remus had awoken, and Harry slipped out of the infirmary quietly, hoping it would give the two a chance to maybe see that they liked each other.

Besides, he didn't want to be around when Tonks told Remus about his fight with Malfoy. He did not want to be stuck listening to any lectures involving not fighting and taking the high road and whatever. As far as he was concerned, the fight was between Malfoy and himself, and they could resolve it however they wished.

Besides. It felt good to be able to pick a fight and walk away from it without getting detention or points taken or whatever. Or banned from Quidditch.

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"We're going to head back this afternoon," Tonks told Harry at lunch. Remus had managed to convince Pomfrey to let him up for the day, and Charlie was already up and about.

"Okay," he agreed. He'd been lucky—or perhaps unlucky—all morning and hadn't run into Malfoy again, but he figured he'd rather not press his luck too long.

"Professor Snape will be coming by this evening for an Occlumency lesson and also to try a new potion he's developed for you," Tonks added. "He'll probably stay the night and observe, just so you know."

"Just what I need. Snape watching me while I sleep," he grumbled.

"Better than getting hurt in visions, though, right?" she quipped. Harry rolled his eyes. She reached for the dish of eggs on the table and knocked over a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

Remus cleared the mess with a flick of his wand and Tonks blushed, looking flustered. Harry wondered if something had finally happened between the two, or perhaps Tonks was really nervous about something.

"Great," Harry griped, once order was restored to the table. "Snape gets to try an experimental potion on me."

"Well, it isn't like there's anyone he can test it on," Remus pointed out mildly. "You're the only one with your specific symptoms."

"Lucky me," he mumbled to himself, stabbing at his breakfast morosely.

"I hear you were in a fight," Remus remarked casually. Harry dropped his fork, instantly irritated.

"So?" he asked sharply. "That's my business."

"You shouldn't be—"

Harry frowned, cutting Remus off. He was _not _going to sit and listen to another lecture on how he should be behaving. Not when it came to Malfoy. That was his own business. "I'll be somewhere around when it's time to go," he announced and got up from the table.

"Harry!" Remus said, but Harry ignored him and stormed out of the room.

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Remus didn't mention anything about the fight on their way back to Grimmauld Place, and Harry hurried up to his room in order to inspect his new belongings. They were stacked carefully at the foot of the bed, most wrapped in brown paper and string, and a rather battered looking trunk was sitting tipped sideways next to it all.

Carefully, he turned it so that the trunk was sitting correctly, and then he realized what the two letters gilded onto the lid stood for.

S.B.

Sirius Black. This had been his godfather's trunk. It hadn't really occurred to him that any of the Marauder's school things still existed, and he supposed his parents' things really had all been destroyed. But Sirius's hadn't. And now Remus had found his trunk for him.

The trunk was a more expensive build than his own had been, with heavier brass fastenings and hinges, and made with some sort of odd leather. Only the faded patches, some ragged gouges, and the tarnishing on the handles gave away the use that the trunk had seen.

He had to sit down for a bit, just staring at this piece of his godfather's childhood, but then he forced himself to turn to the wrapped packages. He couldn't spend his entire afternoon dwelling on Sirius, even if he wanted to, and he wanted to get everything put away before evening.

He could just imagine Snape now—commenting on how messy his room was, or how he didn't keep his supplies in the right places, or perhaps saying something about how he could of course spend money whenever he wished. And then of course he'd snap something at Snape, and then they'd argue, and then Snape would probably trade whatever potion he'd developed with some sort of poison, just to get him back.

Unwrapping his new textbooks first, he was surprised to see that Remus had managed to get every single sixth-year text that he would need. He felt an empty knot form in his chest, realizing that five years of notes and essays and texts had all been turned to ash, but pushed it away. At least he still had the photo album and his invisibility cloak. Those two items meant more to him than even his wand, really. They were absolutely irreplaceable.

Like his Firebolt had been…

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By the time Tonks came up to his room and announced that dinner was ready, Harry had managed to sort through everything. He had his textbooks out and had slipped his homework assignments into them, and had put everything else away carefully in the trunk.

"I'll be down in a moment," he told Tonks as he stood up to survey the room. He'd cleaned it up as best he could, and just before he left he pushed the trunk against the foot of the bed and closed the lid. It looked pretty cleaned up, compared to how it had been this afternoon, and no one would have anything to complain about.

He tromped down the stairs slowly, feeling drained after his sleepless night. Despite the potion that Tonks had given him, he was starting to feel a little sore and stiff, like he'd been on his feet for way too long. Hopefully, he'd be able to get even just a little sleep tonight, he thought.

When he came into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks and his eyes automatically narrowed. Snape was at the table. Eating a piece of toast and reading what looked like a notebook. Like he was supposed to be there.

Snape looked up when Harry stopped in the doorway. "Potter," he commented. Harry glared.

"What are you doing here?" Harry demanded. Snape frowned.

"Surely you remember that you have another lesson this evening?" Snape said. Harry forced himself to relax somewhat.

"I thought that wouldn't be for another few hours," he said. Snape shrugged.

"The sooner we have the lesson, the sooner I can give you the potion, the sooner I can observe its effects, and the sooner I can leave this godforsaken place," Snape said.

"Fine," Harry said. "Let's start now," he suggested. "The sooner we're done, the sooner you're out of _my _house."

"Harry," Tonks spoke up. "You eat," she directed. "No skipping meals."

He frowned. "I'm not hungry," he told her.

"You didn't have lunch, and I don't even know if you ate breakfast," she said, hands on her hips. "So you're eating dinner."

Harry knew he was getting a little red. He could feel Snape's smirk, almost, at the way Tonks was mothering him. "Yes, Potter," Snape spoke up. The smirk was evident in his voice, but Harry still refused to look at the slimy git. "Do join us for dinner."

"What did you make?" he asked, giving up. He slid into a seat as far away from the Potions Master as he could without being directly across from the man, either. He did not want to look up from every bite and see Snape sitting there.

Tonks set down a shallow bowl filled with stew. "Hestia came by earlier and made this," Tonks told him. "She said it'd fatten you right up!"

Harry rolled his eyes, reddening again as he got a glimpse of Snape's amused expression. He forced himself to be polite, though, and took up his spoon with a weak smile. "Thanks," he said. "It looks really good."

Tonks laughed and Harry glanced up as she suddenly swept out of the room, another bowl of stew in her hands. "Taking some dinner to that werewolf," Snape said icily. "Don't look so alarmed, Potter."

"Excuse me," he snapped. He turned back to his stew, but he could feel Snape's eyes on him.

"So testy, Potter," he remarked. "It's almost as if you don't like all the attention the Order bestows upon you…although, I suppose, if they left you alone, you would just drag them all into another one of your unfortunate messes."

Harry stayed silent for about ten seconds after this remark, spoon halfway to his mouth. Color slowly drained from his face as the words echoed in his head, and then suddenly he couldn't even understand why he'd want to keep quiet anymore.

"You know, _Snape_" Harry said suddenly, dropping his spoon with a clatter. "I've just about had it—no, actually, I _have _had it with you. There's no Remus or Tonks or anyone else around right now to tell me I'm being bad or tell me I should be more _mature _or that I shouldn't listen to you. I haven't had parents for fifteen years of my life—all that I remember, really—and I kind of liked it."

Before Snape could get a word in edgewise, Harry stood up, leaning forward across the table towards Snape. He put his hands down right on either side of Snape's plate, which held a half eaten piece of toast, and leaned forward some more, glaring angrily. His face was only a foot and a half from his Professor's, and he stared directly into the dark eyes as he spoke.

"_Professor _Snape, you are the most petty, shallow, greasy, arrogant, sour, bitter, hateful person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. I'm sick of how you seem to think that I am my father reincarnated, though by now, after all those Occlumency lessons, you should know different. Every chance you get, you do something to humiliate or infuriate me, and though I know now that you have to do it at school, you have _no reason _to do it here." He took a breath and went on.

"I know I've made my share of mistakes, Snape, but I wasn't the one that humiliated the other the first time we met. I didn't try to get you fired, I didn't do anything. As childish as it sounds, _you _started all this, and I'll be damned if I let you finish it! You come here like you own the place, act like you're not guilty of any crimes, and seem to think that you can mock Remus, who's lost everyone, without repercussions!

"I promised Remus that I wouldn't start anything with you, but I told him that I couldn't promise not to do anything if you started it! I've tolerated your presence because I know you're part of the Order and all that, but this has gone—"

He had expected Snape to eventually react, once he recovered himself a little. But, once again, he misjudged how his enemy would react. He thought Snape would hit him or shove him roughly away, as he had done in the past when upset, and he was ready for that. What he wasn't ready for, though, was any sort of magical attack.

Snape must have had his hand on his wand the entire time, because just as Harry was starting to really raise his voice, Snape's icy tones cut in. "Legillimens," he said.

Harry collapsed almost immediately, the pain of breaking his arm in his second year shooting through his body. Then, he was on grass again, in the dark graveyard, when Voldemort had cursed him the second time. He forced himself to roll off the table, dishes clatter and breaking all around him, and when the pain subsided he managed to draw his own wand.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted.

"Protego!" Snape said back. Harry saw his spell ricochet away before he was suddenly drawn back into another memory.

This one was something Harry hadn't seen before. He hardly remembered it at all, in fact, but now it came back as if it had happened just the day before.

His vision was slightly blurry in this, and he quieted, disoriented and not even beginning to fight the Legillimens spell.

The first thing he noticed was that it was dark. There was just a line of light somewhere above his head, from the hallway, and he realized he was in his cupboard. Sitting on the ground, facing the door.

He wasn't sure if this memory was very important or not. It was like a lot of his memories; sitting in a cupboard, waiting to be let out. Now, at sixteen, and having finally escaped the Dursleys, it seemed altogether too embarrassing. He was ashamed, he realized, that he'd had to live like that for ten years. And after finding out he was a wizard, things really hadn't gotten that much better.

What this specific memory was about, he wasn't sure. It had to be something, though, for Snape to want to see it so badly. He racked his brain, trying to recall this day before the events happened.

But he couldn't remember anything, and nothing seemed to be happening. He just sat there, in the dark, facing the cupboard door. Much like he had spent many of his days.

The memory blurred, as if Snape too had gotten irritated at the lack of action in the memory, and had moved on. Harry tried to fight the spell then, but he just couldn't seem to force his way free. Snape was probably putting a lot of effort into the spell, perhaps more so than usual.

After a while, the memories slowed again, and Harry was once again watching his memory-self, sitting there facing the cupboard door.

But this time it opened, and a large hand reached in and dragged him out roughly. He whimpered with pain, and Harry saw that he was about seven in this memory, glasses held together with tape since Dudley had broken them when he was six.

His uncle leaned down, face red with anger, and shook Harry hard, just once. "No more funny business, brat," he snarled. Harry shook his head frantically.

"N-no," he whispered. "I—"

His protests were cut off as his uncle gave him another hard shake. "Did I say you could speak, boy?" he snapped. "Marge was having a good week until you had to remind her that you were in here!"

"B-but I had to go to the bathroom!" Harry protests, turning a little red. "I couldn't hold it any longer!"

"And whose fault was that?" Vernon snapped. "You know I don't want you out during the day when Marge is here!"

"B-but—" A shake silenced him.

"Now that that's ruined, you're going to take care of Ripper for her," Vernon went on, voice deadly. Harry nodded, green eyes wide. He did not like Ripper, and Ripper did not like him.

But Ripper had teeth and claws and the entire Dursley family on his side. Harry had himself, and the weird things that sometimes happened to him.

Little Harry was forced to follow his still slightly purple uncle out into the kitchen, when the snarling bulldog and its mistress were waiting. Aunt Marge glared down at him, face a little red as well.

"Brat," she said, in way of a greeting. "Ripper needs fed and watered," she told him, "And I expect it to be done correctly."

"Yes, Aunt Marge," he said quietly, keeping his hands behind his back. He didn't want to give the dog any ideas—last time he'd had to feed Ripper, he'd gotten bit hard on the hand.

He turned to go to the cabinet where the dog food was kept, his eyes darting from Aunt Marge to his uncle, but he didn't realize that Ripper had slipped behind him.

That is, not until the loud yip, followed by menacing growling, alerted him. Aunt Marge screeched. "Oh, poor dear!" she cried. "My poor little Ripper!"

No one was watching Harry, so he started to back up. The dog's beady eyes were fixed on him already, and he really wanted to just get away from the huge, to him, dog.

Aunt Marge saw him trying to get to the door. "You!" she cried. "Ripper! Sic him, boy!" she snapped.

The dog was after him like a shot, and it was all Harry could do to get out the back door. Ripper was right on his heels in an instant, and he couldn't get around the house to the street because of the dog.

And so he ended up in the tree, hanging onto a limb tightly while Ripper growled and slavered and snarled below him.

The bulldog kept him treed while the Dursleys calmly ate dinner, while they watched television, and while they chatted. He was starting to feel really sleepy and very cold by the time Aunt Marge came out, looking like she'd had a little too much to drink with Uncle Vernon.

"Learned your lesson yet, brat?" she called up to him. He nodded frantically, shivering.

"Yes, Aunt Marge," he said out loud. She glared up at him.

"My brother was very kind to take you in, whelp," she snapped, still not calling off the dog. "You should at least be thankful for that."

Harry didn't agree with her, really, but he was ready to do anything to get out of the tree and back to his warm, albeit small, cupboard. "Yes, Aunt Marge," he settled for.

"If you were a dog, they would've been well within their rights to have drowned you," she told him, smiling evilly. Sudden, the memory melded and reshaped, and he was thirteen, sitting at the dinner table and Aunt Marge was gesturing towards him, red in the face from drinking like before.

"This one's got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred."

Harry saw himself sitting there, face deathly pale, staring at his plate. Trying to ignore what was being said, but it wasn't really working.

"It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. Now, I'm saying nothing against your family, Petunia, but your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here's the result right in front of us."

Harry saw that he was getting even more pale, and his hands were trembling in his lap. He looked ready to burst, and as his aunt's words rang in his mind once more, the anger resurfaced.

The memory dissolved into clouds of black smoky something, and his head split with agony before he slipped into total darkness.

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He woke up lying on the wood floor, staring upwards at a dark-eyed face. His body ached terribly, especially his head, and the whole memory was still fresh in his mind. He knew his face was turning red, even as he pushed himself up. Snape had seen it all, had made him go through that entire memory with everything as fresh as if it had just happened.

And now the man was actually leaning over him, no expression on his sallow face. Harry felt his anger growing, but he tried to keep it in check.

"Get away from me," he snarled, getting to his feet unsteadily. The world tipped a little to the left, and he staggered, hitting the edge of the counter against his side as his legs buckled somewhat. He caught himself with his hands, noting vaguely that his wand was still clutched in his hand.

"What in the world? Harry!" came a voice. He groaned weakly. Tonks. It was Tonks. It had to be Tonks. He'd been so close to escaping the kitchen, too.

He felt her hands as she heaved him back up to his feet all the way, and he shook his head, clearing it as best he could. As soon as he thought he was able, he pulled away from Tonks, wanting to stand on his own two feet.

"What happened?" Tonks demanded. Harry blinked a few times, still feeling sick and weak.

"Nothing," he got out. "Nothing happened. I don't feel good," he told her.

"What did Professor Snape do?" she growled. Harry saw that Snape was standing, arms crossed, and watching them talk calmly. He didn't seem to be at all guilty for anything.

"Nothing," he said again. "I want to go lie down."

"You still have an Occlumency lesson to do," Snape spoke up, voice hard. Harry shook his head.

"No way," he said. "I can't concentrate," he added, so Tonks would think he had a valid reason.

Snape regarded him coldly, but Harry was finding it hard to even see the man's face clearly. If he could have, he had a feeling he wouldn't have been able to stop himself from lunging at the man and trying to knock his teeth in. "The potion still must be administered," he said stonily.

Harry didn't say anything, but turned away. He didn't want to ever see Snape again, and he didn't ever want to hear the man's voice. Ever again. At that moment, he would have preferred dropping out of Hogwarts to going back. "I want to lie down," he said aloud.

Tonks nodded. "Okay, Harry," she agreed. "You go upstairs and lie down, and Professor Snape and I'll have a little…chat…and be right up with the potion," she told him.

"Tonks…" he warned. She gave him a light push.

"Go," she told him. "No more talking from you."

Harry went. He was much too tired and much too disoriented to argue any more.

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When Tonks and Snape finally reappeared up at his bedroom, he was lying in bed. He'd managed to change into some pajamas, though vertigo had made it difficult. He'd fallen twice, and in the end had to sit down in order to pull his pajama pants over his feet.

Tonks looked slightly smug, and Harry decided tiredly that she had probably yelled at Snape or something. Which would be just more proof to Snape that the Order catered to Harry's wishes and nobody else's. "How you feeling, Harry?" Tonks asked him.

"Better," he lied. Well, he didn't feel like he was going to fall over…because he was lying down…but everything else still felt terrible. "Just a little weak still," he added. "I think that potion you gave me for last night has completely worn off."

"It isn't meant to replace sleeping," Snape snapped. "The effects are only temporary."

"Really?" Harry said with mock surprise, trying not to think of what Snape had seen. "I wouldn't have guessed."

"I have the potion," Snape said. Harry turned to see Snape's hand, holding out a small flask, and he sat up enough to take the flask brusquely.

"I just drink it and that's it, right?" he checked, looking at Tonks. He didn't want to see Snape's face. To see those black eyes, probably laughing at him and the embarrassing memories that they had witnessed.

"Yup," Tonks said. He sighed and uncorked the flask before tipping it back.

The thick, syrupy liquid tasted like liquid nails, burning and tearing its way down his throat. Only his convulsive swallows allowed him to down most of the potion, and the last of it ended up coughed out onto his blankets as he hacked and wheezed painfully. He saw Snape shift out of the corner of his eye, but he refused to look at the man.

"Sometimes it is impossible to make a potion completely—ah—palatable," he commented. "In order to achieve the necessary effects, the cure itself sometimes borders on poison."

"Poison?" Tonks echoed. Harry couldn't speak. He was too busy hacking and coughing painfully through his burning throat. "Are you sure it won't—"

"He will live," Snape snapped, sounding angry finally. Harry took a ragged breath as he forced himself not to cough again, and then slowly relaxed back onto the pillows behind him. Tonks took the flask from his weak fingers and then cleaned up the spatter on his blankets with a spell.

"I don't feel sleepy anymore," he reported, realizing that he wasn't going to fall asleep anytime soon. His voice was raspy and weak from coughing, and it hurt even more just to say those few words.

"There is a mild form of an energy potion worked into the potion," Snape said idly, calm once more. "It will keep you awake for perhaps five minutes—it's supposed to give you time to clear your mind," he explained.

"Fine," he responded, unwilling to say more with his abused throat. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing, though his throat still hurt badly.

It was difficult to clear his mind while thinking about what Snape had seen at dinner, wondering what Tonks had said, and thinking about how he and Remus needed to talk. He tried to focus on pushing the thoughts to the back of his mind, but before he'd done more than calm down a little, his eyes drooped heavily and he relaxed back onto the pillows.

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Voldemort was saying something, but the words were garbled and indistinct. Harry could not decipher what was being said, but the tone was clear.

Voldemort was enraged.

Pain raced through his body, starting at his scar, and he realized Voldemort must have cast Crucio on someone. The pain dipped and wavered as if it was having trouble finding him.

A sharp spear of agony jolted through his skull, and he was dimly aware that his body was reacting to the pain. He knew he should be waking up, that the pain should be pulling him out of this half-vision half-nightmare thing. But it was not.

He heard laughter. Whether it was his own or Voldemort's, he was not sure. Everything was still wrapped in a thick blanket of fog, and he could only partially make out any shapes.

Voldemort said something else in a low growl that Harry could barely hear. Searing pain snaked through his middle, and his eyes teared up in reaction to the pain.

Everything came into focus in an instant, and he was less than ten feet from Voldemort. Now, he could hear the monster's words.

"My servant has done well," Voldemort said coldly, a smile on his snake-like face. Harry realized he was on his knees and struggled to his feet. He refused to face his parent's murderer on his knees.

"Why don't you just go back to being dead?" Harry asked sarcastically, determined not to let the monster know he was afraid.

"I have no time to waste trading insults with you, Potter," Voldemort snapped. Harry forced himself to look bored and rolled his eyes.

"What, no time to listen to me compare you to Hippogriff dung?" he asked. Pain lanced through his body in a sudden jolt, and when it ended he was on his knees, panting.

He stood up again with difficulty, shaking slightly. "I would advise against making me angry, Potter," Voldemort said coldly. "While I cannot kill you here—probably—I can hurt you."

Another sharp slash of pain, that tore up and down his body once before ending. He had to climb back to his feet once more, the effort making him almost nauseous. As it was, he felt dizzy and weak, his vision blurring a little at the edges.

"What do you want, Tom?" Harry asked. "There must be some reason you're hanging around here chatting with me."

"I know you've seen It," Voldemort said.

"It?" Harry echoed, wondering just what Voldemort was talking about. The monster's eyes narrowed angrily.

"Don't play the fool with me, Potter," Voldemort snarled. "You have seen It, I'm certain. You're going to tell me how."

"Er—I paid two pounds and got to the theatre early?" he said mockingly. A burning at his knees forced him to the ground, but he pushed himself back up despite the pain.

'It's all in my head,' he told himself. 'I'm not on fire, I'm not slowly burn—'

"Tell me!" Voldemort shouted, cutting off his thoughts. Harry blinked.

"If I knew what in bloody hell you were talking about…well, I still wouldn't answer," he said angrily. Voldemort raised his wand, and Harry braced himself for more pain.

But it didn't come.

"Legillimens," Voldemort said, and Harry screamed for the first time, caught unprepared for the absolute agony that seared through his head along his scar. Voldemort was shoving himself into his head, searching for the answers he wanted.

The pain made him quite clearly imagine his head being split down the middle with a giant axe. The pain was blinding, agonizing…and despite it he tried to focus on Voldemort, tried to block his memories and force the monster out of his head.

He knew, somewhere in his mind, that he was panicking, unsure what to do now that his Occlumency skills, or lack thereof, were being put to the test, and all he could wish for at that moment was to wake up, to escape the vision and be back in Sirius's room with Tonks.

He felt the pain lessen as he thought of Sirius, and he grasped onto that thought.

He hadn't seen it before, hadn't understood before. It was the emotion, the love, that forced Voldemort from him in the Department of Mysteries. The same feelings had kept him from being possessed at his relative's home. And now it could save him again, if only he could focus on it…

Sirius, he thought. Sirius…standing up for him, demanding he be told what was going on, the Firebolt…

He could feel Voldemort in his head, could almost feel cold fingers trying to pull apart his thin wall of emotions and dig right into his memories.

And the memories of Sirius were not enough. He wasn't skilled enough to focus all of his power onto those thoughts, to dredge up all the love and sadness that they stood for.

Remus could do that. The sorrow he felt was plain on his face, in his eyes.

The hold weakened. Harry grasped at this new straw and forced himself to think about the last week and more with Remus and others of the Order. He recalled instantly how Remus had held onto him that first night, when he had broken down and cried. He could almost feel tears running down his face once more, and he cried out, just once, just one whimper, as pain drew back through his body.

And the hold was gone.

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A/N: Well, that's it for this chapter! Next one's coming up soon, and I'll try to keep the updates coming. I'm a little stuck on chapter twenty-two or somewhere around there, but it'll work out soon. Thanks for reading, and please, please, please, review!


	18. Of Animagi and Werewolves

Disclaimer: I don't own HP or anything JK Rowling created.

A/N: Thank you to all those that reviewed! In order to get this chapter up ASAP, I haven't included everyone that reviewed at the bottom of this. I just wanted to get this posted before it got too late at night, so you all would have something new to look forward to or whatever. Thank you for reading, and please keep reviewing! --Miss Laine

0000000000 Chapter 18: Of Animagi and Werewolves 000000000000

Harry woke up very slowly. He felt warm and rested, happily, and it took him several moments to realize that there was an arm around his shoulders. Once he fully realized that, he sat up with a snap.

Only to be pushed back down to the pillows. "Relax, Harry," Remus said quietly. "I just didn't want you to wake up…alone," he explained.

Harry blushed, remembering how he'd said that he always woke up alone. Remus really seemed to not like that idea. "The potion didn't work," he said suddenly, remembering all that had happened while he slept.

"I know," Remus said. "Severus told me as much."

"How did he know?" Harry asked, a little bitterness in his voice. Remus sighed.

"According to Tonks, you showed some rather—ah—adverse reactions to the potion. Namely convulsions, etcetera," Remus said awkwardly.

"Meaning I thrashed around and I screamed," Harry said flatly. Remus sighed…again.

"Yeah," he admitted. "Something like that. Severus forced a few potions down your throat while you were asleep. He's already left to rework his formula. He said it might be the wormwood, but he's not entirely certain yet…"

"Voldemort tried to use Legillimency on me," he said. Remus stiffened.

"What happened?" he asked. Harry smiled slightly.

"I started wishing I'd wake up and then I realized that when I thought—of—of Sirius, the pressure went away a little. But it wasn't enough," he added. "So then I thought about you, and how much you've meant to me this past week and a half."

Remus shifted slightly. "Did it work?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "I don't remember anything after Voldemort had to let me go, though."

"What do you think made him leave?" Remus asked, sounding genuinely curious. Harry smiled, feeling comfortable and rested.

"Emotions," he said. "Sorrow, pain, happiness," he said. "I was remembering that first night when I was feeling sorry for myself," he said.

"You had every right to a chance to cry," Remus told him. Harry shrugged slightly, eyes on the far wall. Remus's arm tightened around his shoulders slightly, and Harry let Remus pull him into leaning against the older man.

"I just felt like I was at the end of my rope," he admitted. "I feel kind of stupid about it now."

"You think I've never cried?" Remus asked. "That your father or Sirius never cried?"

"Not when you were sixteen," Harry said, knowing his face was flushing a little. He couldn't even begin to imagine Sirius crying at the age of sixteen. It seemed highly improbable at the least.

"After that prank…the one that almost killed Severus," Remus said quietly. "I don't think your father or Sirius understood just how frightening that was to me. If I had hurt him—besides being a murderer, they would have stuck me in Azakaban. Or worse, they would have just killed me. It's legal to execute werewolves, even without trials."

"That's wrong," Harry said. He paused, unsure how to phrase the question he wanted to ask. "Do you—do you think they were sorry?" he asked. "You know—that they'd almost killed Snape?"

"I know they were," Remus said firmly. "Your father finally realized what an utter prat he'd been. That's about the time Lily really started to accept him. Sirius…Sirius was a little less vocal in his regret, but I know he realized just how dangerous his pranking had gotten. Of course, he was always certain that Severus would have deserved it…"

"Did they tell you they were sorry for endangering you?" Harry asked. Remus breathed out slowly, obviously hesitant to answer.

"I—I didn't find out about the intended prank for almost a week," he admitted.

"What?!" Harry cried, hurt. Remus shushed him a little and continued.

"I think it was more about how they knew I'd feel guilty than anything else. Albus had a hard time convincing me to continue my sixth year at Hogwarts, when I'd started to realize just how dangerous it was for me to even attend school with other children. Just one mistake, and I could have killed someone—or worse, turned them into a werewolf."

"And then you cried when you found out about it?" Harry pressed. Remus shifted slightly on the bed, readjusting his arm a little around Harry's shoulders.

"It was a little while after I found out. I was just back in the dorms from the infirmary, and Sirius, James, and…Peter…were all asleep as if nothing had happened. I guess what bothered me so much was that they seemed more worried about what could have happened to them if the prank had succeeded than what could have happened to me. It just didn't seem very fair to me at the time," Remus admitted. Harry felt a burn of shame in his stomach.

"They were prats," he stated.

"Harry, your father and Sirius did many noble and kind things," he reminded him. "Just because they were teens and made mistakes doesn't mean they were bad or cruel or anything. They were young men that didn't always see the full consequences of their actions."

"Is everything Snape's said about my father been true?" he asked.

"Is everything he says about _you _true?" Remus countered.

"No!" Harry said vehemently. "Well—I don't think it is."

"I don't think it is, either," Remus said. "Our perception of events colors them. Severus sees things differently than you or I do. It skews our recollection of events."

"In Snape's penseive," Harry began slowly, "That. It looked to me like two prats having fun picking on the unpopular kid."

"And another, just letting them do it," Remus finished, sounding genuinely regretful and ashamed.

"I just—I couldn't help but think that my dad acted just like Dudley would," Harry admitted. "Like a really dumb Sirius and James. They used to humiliate me like that. They didn't have magic, but they didn't need it."

"Your father may have had an arrogant streak—Sirius too—but they did lots of noble and kind things as well," Remus said. Harry raised an eyebrow, looking over and up at Remus, who was staring at the far wall as Harry had done, his eyes focused on something only he could see.

"Tell me about something they did, then," Harry challenged. "Something nice."

"Well, you know that they became animagi in order to be with me on full moons, right?" Remus asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah."

"It took them over a year to learn all that they needed and to develop the skills to turn into their animals. But they spent all of their free time working on it, with James working out most of the technical stuff and Sirius forcing them to practice every day for hours in the mornings and evenings," Remus went on, sighing once.

"They never let slip what they were doing, and I never suspected. Later, I found out about some of their more dangerous mistakes when they were learning—like when your father half-transformed and got stuck for an hour. What they did was dangerous and shouldn't have been done without supervision, but they did it for their friend. For me, so I wouldn't have to be alone on the full moon."

"So what?" Harry asked. "They could have done it just as much for the challenge as anything else."

"There was one night they saved my life," Remus said, going on as if Harry had not interrupted. "We were running deep in the Forbidden Forest, I guess—I didn't have Wolfsbane back then, so I don't remember any of this. But James told me about it later, because I was pretty badly cut up the next morning—much more so than usual."

"Then how do you know they didn't lie?" Harry asked.

"You'll see," Remus said vaguely. "Anyway, James told me how the night before we'd run into another werewolf, probably some poor soul who had lived at the edge of the forest for years. Werewolves are lone creatures because it is in their nature to be dominant amongst their own. The other werewolf, as I heard it, was much larger than me and much more experienced. James put himself between us, though, while Sirius dragged me forcibly away from the fight. James escaped after we'd gotten far enough away, but he was cut up and bleeding badly, as was Sirius. Either could have died that night, but they didn't think twice about saving my life, and whomever it was that we met."

Remus paused a moment, and Harry waited. "That afternoon, Dumbledore came to visit me in the infirmary and asked me if I knew anything about a large black dog and huge stag that had broken up a fight between two werewolves. I denied knowing what he was talking about, and he said that perhaps next time, more caution should be used in my 'nighttime excursions.'"

"How did he know?" Harry wondered. Dumbledore always did seem to know everything that was happening.

"I suppose Dumbledore was just keeping an eye on me, somehow, the entire time. I think he already knew that they'd taught themselves to be animagi, and he just wanted to remind me to be careful," Remus said. "Your father was a brave man, Harry. As was Sirius."

"I just wish I could have met my dad, or even Sirius before he was in Azakaban," Harry admitted. "I just wish I had a little proof that they weren't bullies at school. Like Dudley. Picking on the kid that didn't have friends and wasn't big enough to stand up for himself."

"I'm sorry you ever had to live with the Dursleys," Remus said softly. Harry frowned.

"You know, I don't think I regret it," he said. "I mean, I'd give anything to have had my parents, or even have lived with you or Sirius, but the Dursleys taught me a lot."

"Like how to live in a cupboard or avoid getting hit or not ask questions…" Remus grumbled. Harry knew he was blushing now, embarrassed about these things.

"More about humility and seeing things from the victim's point of view," he explained. "About learning when it's a good time to stand up for yourself and when it isn't, or what it's like to the bullied. Sometimes I'm afraid that I've forgotten," he admitted.

"I don't think you would've been a prat if your parents had raised you," Remus offered. "Lily would never have let you be spoilt like that."

"Like Malfoy?" Harry said with a sour smirk. Remus chuckled once.

"Yeah, something like that. You might not believe it, but you're a good kid, Harry," Remus told him.

"When I was younger—before I knew about Hogwarts and magic and all this—I used to always dream that someone, anyone, would come take me away from the Durlseys," he said softly. "Thank you."

"You shouldn't be having to thank me," Remus said. "You should have never had to wish for that in the first place."

"Well, Tom ruined that, didn't he?" Harry said bitterly. "He ruined it for a lot of children."

"But none of them ended up with muggle relatives that hated them," Remus said, sounding angry at himself. Harry sat up a little more, and Remus let him.

"None of it was your fault, Remus," Harry said. "It doesn't matter any more."

"But—" Remus started to argue, but stopped. Harry sighed.

"I never know how to act with you, Remus," he said, changing the subject.

"Huh?" Remus said, blank.

"I—well, I've never really had anyone looking out for me like you do," he said. "I just—I wanted to know how this is going to work before we have any more fights."

"What do you propose, Harry?" Remus asked, sounding perplexed. Harry sat up even more and moved away from Remus. He rolled out of bed and stood up, pacing. Finally, he turned to face Remus, who had stood up as well.

"I—I don't know," he said, feeling frustrated. "I just—sometimes I'm really glad—like this morning—that I've got someone that cares whether I wake up alone or whatever, and other times it just frustrates me to have you picking at my every action," he admitted, trying to be honest. "I feel selfish for _wanting _you to do certain things for me, but then I get upset when you try to correct me or whatever. I—it's just…uncertain… unpredictable," he fished for the word he was looking for, feeling confused and wondering if anything he was saying was making any sense, but Remus didn't seem upset, so he stopped and watched for Remus's real reaction.

"I know I've never been a father before, Harry, so I'm just as…uncertain…about this as you," Remus said. "I know you don't like having someone scolding you for things you really shouldn't be doing, but it's part of the whole guardian thing, at least to me it is…"

"That's it, though!" Harry cried out, interrupting. "I don't know what that means! I don't know what's going on half the time—you're either hugging me or scolding me, and I don't know what it means. I spent up until just about my sixteenth birthday without anyone at all doing anything to care for me, and I think I got used to it…ergh…it's more that I've always taken care of myself and just ignored the Dursleys. I just feel dumb at sixteen, having a guardian…"

"Do you think it was a mistake?" Remus asked quietly. Harry looked up sharply, afraid he'd see regret at the decision to be his guardian on Remus's face.

But instead he saw just worry. "No, no I don't," Harry said quickly. Remus looked relieved. "But I need to know what to expect. Dumbledore acts like I should know what a guardian does and all that. I was imagining more as a legal thing, or a Marauder's promise thing, but that's not what I want." Harry paused, turning and pacing again.

"Dumbledore should never have left you with the Dursleys," Remus said suddenly, and there was such anger and venom in Remus's voice that it gave Harry a chill. He stopped pacing again and froze, looking up. Fury burned in Remus's eyes, and Harry was glad that it was not directed at him personally.

"I—I think I'm getting used to the hugging thing," he said, hoping to get that look of fury off Remus's face.

It worked, partially, and Remus breathed out slowly. "I know you're not used to it," Remus agreed. Harry shrugged.

"Mrs. Weasley is the first adult I ever remember hugging me," he admitted.

The fire was back in Remus's eyes. "Albus and I are going to have a long chat about his decisions regarding you," he growled. Harry sighed.

"He didn't really have much choice, did he?" he asked. "It was the safest place for me."

"In some respects, I suppose," Remus grudgingly admitted. "But was it worth the price?" he added, almost to himself. Harry didn't pause to wonder about what that had meant, though.

"I just want to know where I stand with you," Harry said. "With Sirius—I mean, he was like a big brother or something," he said, feeling a sharp pang of guilt and sorrow as he thought of his dead godfather. "This is different."

"Well, I assumed you'd come to me if you wanted to visit friends—if you safely could, that is—and when school is in session for things like help with homework or problems in classes or with students or whatnot. I really am trying not to stifle you, Harry, but sometimes…"

"I'm sorry I got in that fight with Malfoy," Harry said, feeling stupid about that whole event.

"I shouldn't have started in on you about it," Remus said back. "It wasn't during school, and I'm sure he wasn't blameless in its beginnings anyway."

"I know you don't agree with how I feel about Professor Snape, either," Harry said. Remus shrugged.

"Again, you are not the only one at fault in your—relationship," Remus said, grimacing at the word 'relationship.' Harry laughed outright.

"Or lack thereof," he supplied.

"While you shouldn't have looked in his penseive, he shouldn't be abusing a student-teacher relationship just to get back at a dead man," Remus said back. Harry shrugged.

"I think I've given up on him ever letting go of that," he admitted.

"Tonks told me that something happened between you two yesterday," Remus said casually. Harry sighed.

"I knew she knew," he said. "Snape…Professor Snape," he corrected himself, "said something snide and completely uncalled for, and I let it get to me. I get tired of taking it all the time, you know? And then he used legillimency on me…"

"What?!" Remus exclaimed, looking enraged.

"It's not anything new," Harry said quickly, "and I'm not really mad about that. I was expecting him to react eventually—I didn't think he'd take a student yelling in his face sitting down—but I just—he picked a memory that was really embarrassing, and it melted into another that was almost worse…"

"Can you tell me about it?" Remus asked. Harry hesitated, then nodded.

"It was when I was something like six or seven, at first," Harry said slowly, sitting back down on the bed and burying his face in his hands. "When Aunt Marge had come over. I was supposed to stay in my cupboard until after she went to bed—so she wouldn't know I was there—but I had to go to the bathroom, so I banged on the inside of the door."

He laughed one short laugh and looked up, feeling stupid. Remus was standing in front of him, having walked silently around next to him, and looked interested in hearing the rest of what Harry had to say. So he went on, although not as easily. "Vernon yelled at me some…after he let me changed my clothes…and then I had to go take care of Ripper—that's Marge's bulldog. And I stepped on his tail and she sicced him on me and I ended up in a tree until after midnight at least."

"And then?" Remus pressed, voice sounding weak.

"Then it melded into this memory from after second year—when I accidentally blew up Marge. And she was talking about my parents…" he trailed off. "I just hate it when people like my relatives, or like Snape, talk about my parents like that. It's not my fault I'm their son. They're dead!"

"I know, Harry," Remus said quietly. "Sometimes others forget that you're not your parents. They're not here, so you're their only symbol of the people they hated. It doesn't make much sense, but I do know that it's not your fault."

"Every time I see Mrs. Weasley, I always wonder what it would be like to have a mother," Harry said. The words were out almost before he'd fully thought them through, and in the ensuing silence his face reddened and he once again buried it in his hands. "That came out badly," he said at last.

"I think it came out honestly," Remus said. "Everyone is supposed to have a mother, or at least a woman that is there for them as a child and loves them unconditionally."

"Well, obviously it doesn't end up that way," Harry said bitterly. "Sometimes I just think that Ron doesn't understand what he's got—he's always embarrassed when his mother fusses over him, even now, and all I can think about it how I'd kill…_kill_…to be in his shoes."

"I know," Remus sighed.

Harry frowned into his hands and then looked up.

"Do you?" he asked. "Did you decide when you were nine, sitting in a closet on Christmas day, that there wasn't ever going to be anyone that loved you? Did you finally tell yourself that _no one _was going to come for you? That you'd been left and forgotten and abandoned and ignored, and that wasn't _ever _going to change?" Harry's voice steadily rose as he spoke, until at the end when he was almost yelling.

"In some respects," Remus said softly, so softly and sadly that Harry stopped dead in his frustrated anger.

"What?"

Remus sighed, looking melancholy. "I was bitten when I was a small child, Harry," he said. "There was no way to stop me from contracting the curse, and there was no Wolfsbane Potion to keep it under any semblance of control. My parents still loved me, certainly, but I knew they feared me." Remus shook his head. "Being a werewolf means I'm tired all the time, I feel sick all of the time, and I spend a lot of time recovering from transformations. As a ten year old boy, it was probably the worst thing imaginable."

Harry felt ridiculous. "I didn't think about that," he admitted. "I guess lately I've been so caught up in thinking I've gotten the worst life's got to give…it's like I said. Sometimes I forget what it's like to be at the bottom looking up."

Remus looked halfway between sad and angry when Harry glanced at his guardian's face. Harry wasn't sure what the emotions were meant for, and waited for Remus to speak. "My parents may have feared me—rather, the wolf inside of me—but they loved me, Harry," Remus said sincerely. "They were there for me for a long time. I wouldn't trade the love of my parents to be free from this curse."

"You wouldn't?" Harry asked, genuinely surprised. "Well, I guess I wouldn't know…" He trailed off, thinking about how Remus must have felt as a child, cursed, and trying to go to school and have friends and all that.

"No, I suppose not…" Remus almost whispered. Harry sighed.

"I would've traded anything for my parents back," he said aloud. "I used to imagine on my birthday that they'd come, and every night I'd watch the clock go to midnight…and every year, it became morning and afternoon and night and on and on…and no one ever came…"

There was a rock in his throat, he was sure, choking him. It all came down to the fact that for eleven years, no one had come. No one had rescued him, and over all those years he had let the loneliness devour him. He'd been firmly convinced that no one would ever come for him.

He felt stupid and weak and silly and confused and mixed up all at once, and he wasn't sure why any of this mattered anymore. He'd put his past all behind him when he'd found out about Hogwarts, but obviously it hadn't been enough. Things he'd learned as a child still haunted him, and this summer had brought them back to the surface.

"I'm so sorry, Harry," Remus said, and Harry could clearly hear the honesty and sorrow in those words. "I—we never imagined that it was that bad…I was not in a position to be of any help for many years…"

"Shut up," Harry said angrily, standing again. "I can hear the guilt in your voice, Remus, and you're not at fault. I'm just upset and whining about my oh-so miserable childhood. Yours was bad too," he said. "It's stupid anyway."

"No it's—"

"Yes, it is," Harry cut in, turning to face Remus. "It's all already happened, and there's nothing I can do to change that. This whole talk was supposed to be about our relationship anyway."

"I think you're wrong about it being in the past, but I'll let it go for now," Remus said.

"I just want to be sure that if you're mad at me, you're not thinking this was all some big mistake," Harry said, glad that Remus was willing to let it go. He hadn't really meant to say so much, but it was like he hadn't been able to stop it from coming out. Remus looked surprised.

"Never!" he cried. "Harry, even parents get mad at their kids—surely you've seen Mrs. Weasley shout at Ron?"

"Well, yeah," Harry admitted. "But it's because she's worried about something he's done or whatever. She's afraid she's going to lose him."

"I don't yell at you because I wish I hadn't signed those papers, Harry," Remus said. "It's because I don't want to see you get hurt. I don't want to see you make the mistakes that can push you into dark magic. Children with bad homes tend to fall that way."

"I wouldn't ever be tempted by something that Voldemort uses," Harry said stubbornly. Remus sighed.

"What if you knew that a Dark spell would let you destroy Voldemort?" he asked. Harry opened his mouth, but didn't answer. "Exactly," Remus said. "It's tempting, but is it right to sink to your enemy's level, just to destroy him? Does that make you any better than what you destroyed? Do you just replace it? Who's to decide?"

"I think I understand what you mean," Harry said. Remus smiled.

"Good," he said. "Dark magic cannot solve your problems."

There was a long, but not uncomfortable silence, while Harry and Remus both thought over all that had been said. Harry's thoughts were on his almost-use of the Cruciatus Curse on LeStrange.

Never again would he let anger tempt him, he told himself. It's not worth it. Bellatrix should be in prison, Harry told himself, not being judged by him. He was not the one to decide her punishment.

He just hoped he could stick to that belief when he saw her again.

"What time is it, anyway?" he asked after a bit.

"Past ten, I suppose," Remus said. "No one's in a real hurry this morning."

"Where is everyone else?" he asked.

"Downstairs or out on Order business," Remus shrugged. "It's actually pretty calm today."

"Are you feeling better?" he asked. Remus rubbed his neck slightly, but smiled.

"A little stiff, but it doesn't hurt," he reported. Harry smiled.

"Good," he said. "You're not allowed to get hurt."

Remus grinned. "I'll keep that in mind. As long as you come to me when you have a problem."

"Deal," Harry said, turning away a little and thinking of how different it could have been if he'd gone to Remus or anyone, anyone at all, when he'd had the vision with Sirius. Perhaps his godfather would still have been alive…

"I think there might be some breakfast downstairs, if you feel up to it," Remus suggested. Harry nodded.

"Sure," he agreed. "Yeah."

Harry let Remus put his arm around his shoulders in a very fatherly gesture as they left the bedroom. It was good to know where he stood with Remus now, before it became too confusing and complicated. He'd been absolutely honest when he'd admitted that he didn't understand family relationships, but he also wanted to learn. He wanted a family, even if it was almost too late for it. Even just having someone he could depend on would make his life just a little bit more normal.

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A/N: Here's a few answered questions and few specific thank-yous.

**Stahchild****, gaul1, Bubbly, Crackerjacknpez, Al, sarah, Wind Whisperer, catti, Nadezhda, Angel74, Lynn-50670, Dark-Kimberly-Hart, Kyo-kun, Kateydidnt, and others—you've all been wonderful reviewers! **Thanks so much!****

**Dianne – **Wow! You reviewed so much and with so much care, it left me astounded. I like your insights into my chapters, and some of your suggestions are really great…if you see one used later, let me thank you ahead of time. Again, thanks, and keep reviewing.

**Loony – **Promises will continue. After your reminder, I realized I had, in fact, been neglecting that story rather shamefully. As you read this, I'm probably finishing up the last chapter. That's right. The _very last _chapter. I have other projects I'm working on, so those'll be up soon, too.

**Shadowsfriend**** – **I'm glad you're still reading. Sorry about the horribly long hiatus thing, but it just wasn't going to happen over the summer. I had almost no internet access, and I was working almost full time. But, like I've mentioned, I did do a lot of editing—and I mean a lot—on my stories. Hopefully, they're a little better now.

**Ash Knight – **I was wondering if people would question my choice of memory. I had several different versions planned out, but I needed something that would make Harry's hate for Snape grow, but wouldn't make it so that no reconciliation could every be reached between the two. Just as I don't think that Harry saw Snape's worst memory in the penseive, this wasn't really Harry's ultimate worst memory ever. Just something highly embarrassing and secret to him.

**Numba1: **I know you have a lot of questions about my story, so I'll answer as best as I can. Harry's a teenager. Teens are rather moody—I mean, I know I was, and so were just about every other teen I know, and their moods don't have to make sense. Harry shouted at Ron and Hermione for things that weren't really their fault, at least not to me, but teens see things differently I guess. Harry knows he has to learn Occlumency—and he has finally, _finally, _figured it out. Snape is an important character, and I think it's important that at some point Snape and Harry are able to put their differences aside and at least stop the hostilities. Snape keeps pushing Harry in his own way—he wants to see Harry fail as much as he knows that Harry must succeed, I think. But perhaps he'll realize that Harry's not what he seems to be—something that Snape hasn't seemed to grasp despite numerous Occlumency lessons with Harry during Harry's fifth year. I think Harry is willing to overlook things like his aunt's attack and Snape's attacks—at least to a certain extent—because he's almost constantly under attack from much more dangerous things…like, oh, say, Voldemort. Harry grew up in what seems to me to be a rather abusive home, but I think it really doesn't register to him that it should have been different…at least not until now, that is. A sixteen year old can look back and compare their life to others that they know and evaluate their childhood, and Harry's doing this and seeing just how awful it was.

Wow, I'm rambling now. Hopefully, I haven't given anything away, and I hope you keep reading, if just to see if it works out the way you'd hope it would work out. I'm doing my best to stick to a roughly realistic plotline, but I'm no JK Rowling. You'll have to wait for her Book 6 if you want the 'real' story.

Thanks again,

Miss Laine


	19. More, or less, Visions and More Potions

Disclaimer: See all other chapters. I don't own Harry Potter.

A/N: This is the first chapter I've actually written in a while. All the others were written several months ago, and I've just been rereading and revising and planning out things. This chapters was kind of a big roadblock for me, because I really do want Harry to make it to Hogwarts at some point soon…like next chapter…but there's a lot going on for him right now. I mean, he had all of August at Grimmauld Place. I just didn't want to gloss over all of it. By the way, I'll respond to reviewers in chapter 20. I just want to get this finished and posted sometime. –Miss Laine

0000000000 Chapter 19: More (or less) Visions and More Potions 0000000000000

Snape didn't even look at him that evening, when he arrived just after dinner. Harry went on with cleaning up the table by hand, so bored with having to lounge around Grimmauld Place all day that he was willing to do just about anything to avoid sitting around reading. Especially if the only thing he had to read was his backlog of letters.

Harry forced himself to keep the small smile off of his face. For once, he couldn't wait for the impending Occlumency lesson. He knew the secret now. He knew how to keep his mind his own.

And Snape was going to find that out.

Again, he had to force the half-smirk off of his face.

"Want a hand there, Harry?" Remus asked. Harry looked up and smiled briefly, feeling much more at ease with Remus now that they had really sat down and talked.

"Sure," he said, and the dishes in his hands disappeared. Remus grinned.

"Magic makes chores a lot easier, don't you think?"

"Only if you are allowed to do magic," he pointed out. Remus smiled.

"Well, that's what I'm here for," he said easily. "Flick of the wand, and then there's no chores to do."

Harry opened his mouth to respond, happy to be involved in a rather pointless conversation, but an irritated Snape cut in.

"Enough!" he said. "Let's get this blasted lesson over!"

Remus's eyes narrowed, but Harry shook his head, hoping Remus understood. The werewolf didn't say anything, so Harry supposed that he had. "All right," he said aloud. "In the den, as usual?" he asked.

Snape just growled slightly in reply, and Harry shrugged and followed after the billowing black robes, Remus just behind him.

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Harry barely made it in the door before Snape whirled on him. "Legillimens!" he snapped.

But Harry was ready. He felt alive and strong, safe in the knowledge that he had Remus and his friends on his side, no matter what, and he had already focused all of energy _not_ on making his mind blank, but rather on filling it up with everything else.

He felt the spell connect, but it seemed to have less impact than usual. A memory started to replay vaguely…it looked like Dudley punching him, perhaps…but it was out of focus.

Harry thought hard on how if he'd grown up with parents, he would have never had to live like that, and the pain and grief that he felt for his dead parents seemed to swell within his heart, forming a painful ache deep in his chest.

And he stood, facing Snape, and smiled. "Was that any better?" he asked.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "What did you do?" he demanded. Harry smiled.

"Did it work like it was supposed to?" he countered. Snape looked ready to shout at him, but the man swallowed once and took a step back.

"It was better," Snape grudgingly admitted. Harry smiled broader, enjoying this.

"Better, as in it worked, or better as in it worked really well?" he pressed. Harry could see Snape's jaw clench.

"It was better, Potter, and you had better leave it at that!" Snape snapped. Harry nodded, grin fading.

"Good," he said. "I wouldn't want to find out that I'm going to have to do this over and over for the rest of the summer, just because you won't admit that I've figured Occlumency out."

Snape glared at him, but Harry stared back, unafraid.

Well, almost completely unafraid. Somewhere in the back of his mind, there was a little worry, a seed of doubt. A fear that Snape might see fit to uncover a few of his less than pleasant memories in front of others, just to get back at him. But he felt hopeful that Snape wouldn't do that.

After all, he'd never told Ron or Hermione about what he'd seen in Snape's penseive. Snape knew that. Snape had no right to use anything he'd seen against Harry.

"Legillimens," Snape said coldly.

Harry braced, forcing his thoughts onto Remus and the night that Remus had let him cry on the floor and had comforted him as only a parent could.

He didn't even see what Snape was looking for. It was as if the memories could not even be pulled from his mind anymore, and he stared at Snape defiantly, sure a small smirk was on his face.

"I will test you again tomorrow," Snape snapped at him, and Harry smiled a little more. Snape had had to admit defeat. He couldn't break into Harry's mind any more.

"All right," Harry said levelly, trying not to instigate a full-blown fight with Snape. "Now what?"

"I have a different version of the potion to administer," Snape said, and Harry wanted to laugh at the anger evident in the greasy man's voice. "You have ten minutes."

Harry nodded. "Just so you know, _professor,_ your last potion really didn't work out too well," he commented, and then left before Snape could respond.

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"Like I said," Harry said, feeling exasperated, "There's just this really big stone castle thing, and every time I'm either walking around alone until I wake up, or I'm getting chased by a huge snake."

Remus regarded him with half-worry and half-confusion. "I thought Severus's potion blocked visions," he said. Harry shook his head.

"Snape's potion blocks all visions, I'm sure of it," Harry said. "But this isn't a vision, Remus," Harry insisted again. "It's something else…it's like I'm really there or something. Like that time when Petunia knocked me out in the floo."

Harry saw a frown pass over Remus's face for a fleeting moment. "You saw this…castle…then?"

"Yeah, but I just thought I was having a strange dream or something," he explained. "But it's been going on every now and then these past few weeks." He rubbed his forehead, but stopped when he saw Remus's eyes on his hand.

"Is your scar…?"

"No, it's not hurting," Harry assured Remus. "I'm just confused about this. I mean, I don't ever have visions with Voldemort now, but I see this stupid castle all the time. And that snake only ever tells me that I shouldn't be there yet, because I don't have the 'key,' whatever that is."

"Should I tell Albus?" Remus asked. Harry sighed. "Probably. Bad things tend to happen when I don't tell him everything odd that happens to me. Which is a lot of things."

"That's true," Remus agreed quietly.

Harry knew at that moment that they were both thinking about Sirius.

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Harry spent the last few weeks he had before heading back to Hogwarts doing homework and practicing his Apparating. Kingsley came by once to help, and the only other time he got to practice his Apparating, Remus helped him. He still couldn't do more than a few apparations without exhausting himself, but he was getting better.

The hope was that he'd get good enough to get his license when he had time, and Harry had already decided he'd have to sneak off Hogwarts grounds every few weekends in order to work on that skill. He didn't care too much if he licensed or not, but Apparating could come in very handy if he needed it.

Remus had given him several books on animagi to read over, but hadn't been able to give him an actual practical lesson in becoming an animagi. Harry hoped that he'd be able to have a chance to learn over the winter holiday, but he didn't want to push Remus to do things for him. He knew that Remus was busy and didn't always have time to help him.

The potion that Snape had developed arrived in a larger quantity several days after Harry had begun using it, and Harry had wordlessly placed the several large flasks and half-dozen vials in his new-old trunk as he packed his things away the day before he was to head back to Hogwarts. He had not had an Occlumency lesson in more than two weeks, when he had proven for the third night in a row that he'd learned the secret to fighting a Legillimency attack, and in, what he felt, was ample reward, he had not seen Snape at all since then.

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Harry waited nervously in the front room, trunk and owl by his side. Remus and Tonks were supposed to have been ready to go more than ten minutes earlier, but they had yet to make their appearances.

A crash from somewhere upstairs told him that Tonks was in a hurry. She wasn't half as clumsy as she had been when he first met her, but she still tended to knock things over when she was nervous or rushing. Since she was probably both right now, he figured they'd be lucky if they made it out of the house without it falling down around their ears.

"Come on!" he heard Tonks shout laughingly, and after another small crash she came tripping down the stairs. "Wotcher, Harry!"

Harry grinned. "Good morning," he said, his excitement coming through in his voice. "Is Remus coming?" he asked. Tonks grinned.

"Someone didn't wake up on time," she said. "I heard something about dozing off as he dashed across the hall to the bathroom."

Harry grinned again, feeling good. He hadn't dreamed of anything but Quidditch the night before, and he felt quite invigorated as he hadn't for over a year. The dark fortress had disappeared from his nights, and he felt as if a huge weight had lifted from him with its loss.

"Are we going to make it to the train on time?" Harry asked. Tonks nodded.

"Sure," she said. "It's not far from here, you know."

Harry nodded and turned to check that his trunk was packed with everything he needed, and he felt a little thrill of something nice as he realized that he had been able to leave many of his belongings in his room…_his room._

That was it, he realized. For the first time in his life, he had a space that was his and his alone.

A sudden torrent of sound brought him out of his realizations, and he saw Remus come almost running down the stairs. "Ready," Remus announced. "Let's get going."

"Great," Harry said happily. He went to heave his trunk up, but Tonks stopped him.

"Let me get that, Harry," she said. She waved her wand and the trunk floated into the air, followed quickly by Hedwig in her cage. Harry hesitated, to be sure that his belongings would be all right, and then followed Remus out the door.

The three went quickly to the car waiting directly out front of the house, and Harry took the backseat next to Tonks while Remus slid behind the wheel. "You know how to drive?" Harry asked, surprised. Remus nodded.

"It's good to know Muggle methods of things," he commented. "Sometimes things come in handy, Harry."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, thinking of how George and Fred had picked the lock on the cupboard under the stairs before second year. "It can be pretty useful."

"I'll have to teach you to drive sometime," Remus mused aloud. Harry smiled. That would be something, he decided. He'd have to take Remus up on that offer sometime.

"I've never been through this much of London before," Harry commented, looking around at the rows of buildings. "Are there a lot of wizards living in London?"

"A fair number," Remus agreed, "but most like to live in more rural areas, so they can be more secluded."

"Are you going to be at Hogwarts this year?" Harry asked abruptly. He'd been wondering just who was going to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year, and he'd been thinking that perhaps Remus would be taking the job again.

Remus glanced at him in the rearview mirror. "What gave you that idea?"

"Well, someone's got to teach DADA," Harry said slowly. Remus sighed.

"I can't," he said. "First of all, I'm a werewolf, and second, you know I have a lot to do with the Order. I can't be at Hogwarts all year teaching."

"Oh," Harry said, disappointed but trying not to sound childish about it.

"I can tell you that Albus has done the best he can to find someone that won't try to kill you this year. Hopefully, they're somewhat competent as well," Remus went on. Harry smiled.

"You're the only DADA teacher we've had so far that was any good," he said. Remus smiled at him as he glanced back quickly.

"It isn't saying much when a sickly werewolf is the best professor to be had," he said wryly. Harry laughed.

"Everyone says the job's cursed," Harry agreed. Remus laughed.

"Everyone's right," he admitted. Harry's eyebrows raised.

"Really? Who did it?" he asked.

"Word is your granddaddy Potter did," Tonks cut in. "He was a retired auror—probably taught that class for ten years."

"What happened to my grandparents?" Harry asked.

"Killed," Remus said quietly. "Voldemort."

"Oh," Harry said softly, and somehow felt that the conversation had reached its end. He stared out the window of the car and they drove in silence the rest of the way to the station.

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"HARRY!"

He heard the shout from across the platform, almost as soon as he had stepped across the barrier. Tonks was still with him, but Remus had had to return the car and get back to Dumbledore.

He barely had a chance to set down Hedwig's cage before he was engulfed in Hermione's arms as she leaped at him in a strong bear hug. She wasn't able to bowl him over, as she could have before, and he hugged her tightly. "Hello, 'Mione," Harry said, amused.

"We've been worried sick about you!" Hermione exclaimed, backing up and grinning happily. "Ron's probably still loading our trunks, and I'm sure he can't wait to see you too!"

"I've been fine," Harry assured her. "The potion works, and look, I've even fattened up."

Hermione smiled at him with a very motherly expression. "Good," she said, sounding satisfied. She turned to Tonks. "Does he eat enough?" she asked. Harry reddened, but didn't say anything.

He'd just seen a very familiar red head coming through the crowds. Ron grinned over the tops of just about everyone else's heads and waved. "Harry!"

"Hallo, Ron!" Harry called back. "Good to see you, mate!"

Ron pushed through the crowds and managed to get close. "You look better, Harry," he commented, and they stood awkwardly a moment, unsure of how to greet each other. Hermione must have seen because she huffed.

"Oh, honestly," she said, rolling her eyes. "Hug each other! You've been best friends five and a half years now!"

Ron and Harry grinned at each other, feeling stupid, and then hugged. "Only Hermione can make us look like idiots," Ron said as he stepped back. Hermione batted at her boyfriend's arm with a slight blush on her face.

Ron just laughed, though.

"Five minutes," Tonks commented, then accidentally stepped on someone's foot.

"Watch it!" the wizard she's stomped on snapped.

Tonks reddened. "Whoops, sorry."

"Let's get a compartment," Hermione suggested. "I don't want to have to spend the train ride in the same compartment as Malfoy."

"We won't," Harry said. Ron and Hermione looked at him, and Harry hastily added, "I'll tell you on the train," he promised. His friends nodded and Harry turned to Tonks.

She smiled at him. "Take care, Harry," she said. Harry smiled.

"Thanks for everything," he told her sincerely. She laughed and then suddenly hugged him. Harry stiffened a moment, surprised, then relaxed.

"See you at the holidays," she said. "You're coming home for them, you know."

Harry really did stiffen this time. Tonks stepped back to look at him. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Home," he echoed. "Going…home," he said slowly, and then smiled again. Tonks looked at him a little confusedly, but then her eyes cleared.

"It's terrible what those relatives of yours did to your life, Harry," she said softly. Harry shrugged.

"Hey, but I'm going home this year!" Harry said, too happy to even think about the Dursleys at all. "Let's go," he suggested. "See ya," he added. Tonks waved them off, and Harry led Ron and Hermione towards the train.

He was more than ready to return to Hogwarts for his sixth year of school. Big things were going to happen this year, he knew, and he was eager to do all he could to prepare for them.

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A/N: This chapter was hard to write. It was such a transitional chapter that I had difficulty just trying to figure out how to make it move from summer to heading back to Hogwarts without being overly rushed. As it is, it ended up short and choppy, but I guess it works. There's a lot more to come for Harry now, and things are certainly just heating up. Please, please review, because if I don't get reviews, I don't feel that motivated to write. –Miss Laine

PS: responses to reviewers will be at the end of the next chapter, after I write it.

PPS: the next chapter will be up in a week to a week and a half. I have nothing written past this point, but I have it planned. So hang in there for me, and there will be an update soon. Thanks!


	20. Home to Hogwarts

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything associated with it. My use of these characters is not intended for anything other than non-profit enjoyment.

**A/N:** Well, we're on our way back to Hogwarts. Things will eventually start to speed up as the year progresses, and hopefully it'll keep your interest. Ron seems to be a little whipped in this chapter. He lets Hermione walk all over him, but really it is for his own good. I thought it was cute. Anyway, please review! –Miss Laine

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"Where's Ginny?" Harry asked as soon as he'd sat down. He and his friends had found an empty compartment about halfway down the train, and Harry had noticed that no one made any mention of Ginny being there or not.

Ron looked a little uncomfortable, and Hermione frowned. "She's still upset, I think," Hermione finally said. "She's with Dean Thomas still, you know, so she's sitting with him near the back of the train."

"She's being a prat about it," Ron said grouchily. "It's not like it's your fault, you know." Hermione eyed him.

"You _do _remember being a prat fourth year, don't you?" she asked him. Ron flushed again.

"Sure, but—" he started to protest, then stopped at Hermione's disapproving expression. It was almost enough to make Harry burst out laughing, but he swallowed his mirth to keep from making Ron more embarrassed.

"Exactly," Hermione said. "She just needs time and actions to prove to her that it doesn't mean anything."

Harry sighed. "I hope so," he said. "I don't want her hating me for the rest of our lives."

"She doesn't hate you, Harry," Hermione said sensibly. "She's just…upset."

"I know," he sighed, looking out the window. The train's whistle blew a moment later, and with a slight jolt and rattle the train pulled away from the station. He watched the witches and wizards on the platform slide by, waving at their children, until they passed completely out of the station.

He turned back to his friends with a stifled sigh, forcing himself to resume their conversation.

"How is every else?" Harry asked, hoping to change the topic. "I haven't really seen anyone at all."

"Neville got a new wand over the summer," Ron commented. "I guess his grandmother wasn't really too upset that his other was broken. He said she seemed pretty proud that he'd fought death eaters."

"I was worried about that," Harry admitted. "I didn't want him to get in trouble because of me."

"Nah," Ron said. "He seemed pretty excited still. I think he's finally getting a little confidence."

"What about Luna?" Harry asked. Ron looked worried a moment, and Hermione frowned and shook her head.

"That girl," Hermione muttered.

"What?" Harry asked.

"She won't leave me alone!" Ron exclaimed finally. "Every bloody time we're at Diagon Alley, she shows up."

"Not _every _time, Ron," Hermione commented. "Though it does feel like it…"

"She shows up and talks to me and won't leave me alone!" Ron complained. "I've _told _her and _told _her that Hermione and I are together, but she doesn't get the hint."

"Maybe she just wants to be friends," Harry suggested. Ron eyed him.

"Not when she asks if I can come have dinner at her house and meet her parents," he said flatly. Harry couldn't help but laugh. Ron looked grouchy.

"It isn't that funny," he groused. Harry laughed harder, and had to work to stop himself.

"Ron," he finally got out, "there's nothing funnier than _you _complaining about attention."

Ron looked hurt a moment, then paused and laughed. Harry smiled. If Ron could take a slight jab, that was good. He didn't want to lose Ron due to any petty jealousy, and it seemed to him that it was time for it to end. "Just wait til we get to Hogwarts," Ron finally said. "You're going to have to hide out in Gryffindor to keep away from your _adoring _fans."

Harry shuddered. "I have a whole stack of letters from students at Hogwarts now," he said. "They're in the bottom of my trunk somewhere, but some of those people…" He shook his head. "Let's just say that they write some _really _disturbing things."

Hermione smiled. "At least they'll get a response now," she said. "It's a good way to build connections between the houses and you."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "That's what I figured," he said. "The more people that _don't _become death eaters, the better."

They all turned their heads as the compartment door rattled, and a moment later opened to allow a smiling Neville Longbottom. "Hello, Harry!" the other teen said brightly as he plopped down in an open seat.

"Hey, Neville," Harry said. Ron and Hermione also greeted Neville before Harry spoke up again. "I heard you got a new wand, right?"

"Yeah," Neville said, smiling again. "Gran was so proud of me that she didn't care how much it cost or anything." He took out a nine or ten inch wand made of some sort of light-brown wood. "Nine inches, with a unicorn hair core. It's really great."

"How did you do on your OWLs?" Harry asked. "Did your Defense OWL go all right?"

Neville grinned. "Thanks to you, Harry, I got an E on my defense OWL," he said. "I got an O in herbology, and averages in just about everything else."

"That's really good," Hermione said encouragingly. "Have you decided what career you're going to pursue?"

"I'm thinking of working at St. Mungoes, with magical plants," he said. "I don't think I'm really cut out to be an Auror, and I didn't get the potions grade to get into Snape's NEWT class."

"That sounds really interesting," Hermione said. "Everyone should do what they're passionate about."

Harry's stomach clenched a little at that comment. _He _couldn't do what he wanted with his life. Just because of a choice Voldemort made, because of a silly prophecy, he didn't have any choices. He had to defeat Voldemort, and he was the only one that could. He couldn't play profession Quidditch if he wanted. He couldn't become a teacher or anything at all.

He had to kill someone. Something. That was his future.

He couldn't plan anything with any certainty at all until that was finished.

"Does anyone know who's teaching defense this year?" Harry asked abruptly, wanting to get away from talking of futures and careers.

Everyone shook their heads. "I had hoped Professor Lupin would be back," Hermione said. Harry shook his head.

"I asked," he explained. "Remus said he couldn't, but it sounded like he knew who was."

"As long as they don't try to kill you and have common sense, I'm happy," Ron said. Harry agreed completely.

"It'd be nice to have a defense class where we learned something and where we didn't have to watch our backs because of them," he said.

"I'm sure we'll have a good teacher this year," Hermione said.

"I don't know," Harry said. "Five years, and four terrible professors. Remus is the only one that's been any good."

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore's done his best to find someone trustworthy, Harry," Hermione said. Harry shrugged.

"Unless they take Veritaserum, I'm not going to trust them. Dumbledore might try his best to find someone good, but he _did _let that Moody imposter in. He would've killed me right here in Hogwarts if the professors had been any slower."

"Look, I just don't think—" Hermione began to argue, but stopped as the train jolted sharply, but maintained speed.

"Bloody hell!" Ron grumbled, halfway between annoyed and worried. Harry stood up, wand already at the ready. Instantly, all thoughts of future DADA professors and everything else slipped from his mind.

There had been something very wrong-feeling about that jolt.

"What was that?" Hermione asked.

"I do—" Harry began, but another harsh jolt stopped him. The jerk jostled him sideways, but he stayed on his feet, using his quick reflexes to balance himself.

He had barely put his hand on the compartment door when another jolt, much stronger than the other two, knocked him against the glass. He bounced off sharply and grabbed at the door to stay on his feet, shoving it open sharply.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted. "Don't!"

"You'd better come back…" Neville said, sounding very unsure of himself.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, annoyed. "I just want to know what's going on!"

Another jolt, and the train slowed. Fractionally.

Another and the train screeched like a wounded animal, slowing a little more. There was a crunching sound, and Harry dropped to his knees while Neville, Hermione and Ron rolled off their seats onto the floors.

The roof of their car was slowly caving in, like some huge rolling pin was crushing it from one end to the other. Hermione screamed again, and Ron pushed her down flat, covering her protectively. Harry glanced back in time to see Neville covering his own head as he braced against the side of bench seat.

Harry, on the other hand, stayed up on his knees, wand still held high, and moved into the hallway. Ron and Hermione saw him, though. "Harry!" Ron shouted through the half-closed compartment doors. Harry gave them a quick smirk through the glass.

"I think we might just be under attack," he said. "We need to get out—"

He was cut off once again, but this time the train didn't just jolt. The crushing of the car's roof had moved on, probably rolling down the entire train, but now there was a loud crunch sound.

Suddenly, the train car shuddered horribly and then everything dissolved into chaos. The car tilted wildly, jumping and jolting. "We've derailed!" Hermione screamed. "That's not possible!"

"What?!" Ron demanded.

Hermione didn't have a chance to respond, as the car suddenly crashed over onto its side. Harry tried to think of what to do, even as he was thrown against the compartment's doors now above his friends, and quickly raised his wand.

"PROTEGO!" he shouted desperately, aiming at his friends. They were falling straight towards the shattered window of the car, and even from where he lay on the compartment doors he could see the jagged glass and metal.

The blue-silver shield blossomed from his wand in a blast of power, and even as Hermione screamed the shield caught Neville, Ron, and herself, cushioning them about three feet above the wrecked wall of the compartment.

But it wasn't over yet. The car had tipped over, but it had not hit the ground yet, nor had it lost enough speed. The shield barely held as the car slammed into the ground on its side, almost coming to a complete halt, and Harry was jarred loose from his own precarious hold on the sliding door. He was sent rolling head over heels towards the front of the car, wand still staying clenched in his fist. He only hoped that the shield held, even in his absence.

He slammed into the train car's door and knew no more.

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He woke up very slowly, as if coming back out of a thick white fog. His mind felt muddled and tired, and his eyelids were much too heavy to lift for several minutes. He already knew where he would be when he opened his eyes, and he was not disappointed.

The hospital wing surrounded him as it had many times before, and he blinked blearily a few times before groping around for his glasses. "Here," Madame Pomfrey's voice came, and he turned to see the nurse approaching. When she was close enough, he could see that she was holding his glasses in her hands.

"Thanks," he said, voice a little rough, and the he slipped his glasses onto his face. "I'm in the infirmary," he said aloud, not really needing to ask where he was. "Is everyone all right?" he asked. Pomfrey smiled somewhat sadly.

"Everyone's alive, thank Merlin," she assured him, "But a few had to be taken to St. Mungos. There were a few in the middle cars that were badly hurt."

"Ron? Hermione?" he asked, worried. They'd been in the middle of the train.

"Both bumped a little, but fine thanks to you," she said. "That spell was still holding long after we got them out of the train car."

"I wasn't sure it would work, but I had to try something," he said. Pomfrey fussed with the edge of his blankets and smiled again.

"I should tell you, Harry," she said. "Miss Weasley was taken to St. Mungos."

Harry sat up straight in bed, and icy chill drenching him as his stomach dropped. "What?!" he gasped. "I—Is she all right?" he demanded. "How bad was it?"

"Calm down, Harry," Pomfrey said. "She will be fine in a week or so. She had a bad head injury and a few broken ribs. She's recovering."

"W-when can I see her?" he asked, then looked down, remembering that Ginny wasn't on talking terms with him lately. Although visiting her might help improve that situation, he reasoned.

"You're not going anywhere, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey said sternly. "The only reason you're here and not at St. Mungos is that it's much too dangerous to take you anywhere. Albus thinks that it was…You-Know-Who's hope that we would take you there and he could attack. So it's been made very public that you're being kept here."

"I don't remember," Harry said slowly. "I don't feel hurt."

"Mr. Potter, you've been unconscious for two and a half days," she told him. Harry blinked, astounded.

"What about classes?" he asked. "What about the Welcome Feast?"

"Classes have been postponed until the start of next week," she said. "The Welcome Feast will be held the night before, don't worry."

"Unconscious for two days…" he murmured softly. "Was I that badly hurt?" he asked again, amazed. He didn't feel like he'd been out for two days at all.

"Mr. Potter!" Pomfrey said in a scolding tone. "You were almost in a coma, and having a broken arm and shoulder didn't help matters."

"Oh," Harry said. "Well, how long do I have to stay in bed then?" he asked. "I feel fine now."

Pomfrey almost glared at him. "You're staying here until I say you can leave!"

"Well, where are Ron and Hermione, then?" he asked, feeling irritated but knowing that he would never win a fight against the nurse.

"At St. Mungos," Pomfrey said, and Harry could hear the reluctance in her voice. Harry blushed, feeling stupid. Of course Ron would be with his sister, and obviously Hermione would be with him. Pomfrey must have seen his embarrassment, because she put a hand on his shoulder. "They were by several times while you were unconscious, Harry," she said. "They couldn't stay the entire time, and honestly Miss Weasley is the more injured."

"I know," Harry said quickly. Perhaps too quickly…

"They don't mean to abandon you, Harry," Pomfrey said, looking at him with gentle eyes. "They were both very distraught when they found out you were in here. Again."

"I know," he said again, and this time meant it. "I just…nevermind." He shook his head. "Where is everyone else? It's awfully quiet around here."

"As you can imagine, everyone's incredibly busy," she told him. "But I do believe that a certain someone should know by now that you've awoken, since I sent him an owl as soon as you opened your eyes."

Harry thought. "Who?" he asked. Pomfrey rolled her eyes almost.

"You'll see," she told him. "You need to eat up before he arrives, though." Harry sighed and waited as Pomfrey went back to her office and then reappeared with a tray of food.

"Oh yum," he said, looking at the lukewarm chicken broth and bowl of porridge. "This looks delicious."

Pomfrey eyed him sternly. "You haven't eaten in two days, Mr. Potter," she told him. "Eat this, and eat again this evening, and I'll think about letting you attend the Welcome Feast."

"Fine," Harry groused before taking up the spoon and starting in on his broth.

He was interrupted only a few spoonfuls in when the doors of the infirmary flew open. "Harry!" he heard.

"Remus!" he cried out, surprised.

The thin werewolf almost ran to his side, his amber eyes filled with worry. "Are you all right?" he asked. "What hurts? Did Poppy give you something?"

Harry smiled. "I'm fine, Remus," he promised. "I feel fine. I didn't even realize that I'd been out for two days."

Remus sighed and seemed to look him over. "Well, I must admit that you certainly look all right…"

"I _am _all right," Harry insisted. "See, I'm even eating," he added, drinking more of the soup straight from the dish.

"You certainly didn't look all right when they brought you in here," Remus said. Harry raised his eyebrows.

"That bad?" he asked. "I heard I was hurt…"

"Hurt?" Remus echoed. "Hurt?! Harry, when we got you out of that train car, you were covered in blood with your right arm twisted under you completely wrong! Albus had to lift you with about a half-dozen different spells, Harry!"

"Why wasn't he helping the others?" Harry asked, feeling ridiculous. He didn't remember any of this. "I heard Ginny—"

"Harry, there aren't any Dark Lords specifically after Ginny, are there?" Remus asked.

"Was Voldemort there?" he asked, alarmed.

"No…we don't think so, anyway," Remus said slowly. "But only the Hogwart's Express had anti-apparation wards on it, not the area around it. Once the train was derailed, the spells were destroyed. We had to get you out of there fast, before unwanted help arrived."

"I don't remember any of this," Harry said, feeling mixed up. Two days…he'd lost two days…

"Hermione and Ron can fill you in," Remus said mildly. "So can Neville."

"Are—are they all right?" he asked.

"Hermione was crying," Remus admitted. "I think she was afraid you were dead. Ron was trying to calm her down…but it was pretty nasty. You were bleeding everywhere, and they had to crawl past you to get out…we couldn't move you until they were out…"

Harry saw Remus's haunted expression and shifted awkwardly. "Er…I didn't mean to get hurt," he said. Remus gave him a fleeting smile.

"I know, Harry," Remus said. "Every year something happens to you, and every year I know it's not your fault…it never was your fault…"

Harry didn't know if Remus was talking in general or about Sirius now. Or perhaps he was thinking about his parents… "I _try _to stay out of trouble," he said, knowing full well that that wasn't entirely true. He tried to stay out of trouble if no one was in danger, more often.

Remus seemed to know he was lying too and gave a soft laugh. "Of course, of course," he said humorously.

The laugh died, and Harry stilled at Remus looked at him with one of the most solemn expressions he'd ever seen on the man's face.

Which was saying a lot, since Remus was usually reserved and solemn. "I know it wasn't your wish to get in trouble, Harry,' the werewolf said quietly, "But don't ever do that to me again. You have no idea…"

Harry stared, feeling completely off balance again as he watched Remus have to swallow a few times and clear his throat. "Remus…" he started, but his guardian raised his hand to stop him.

"Harry, I knew when I decided to be your guardian that I would be spending more time around you and taking care of you. I knew that you'd become more than just my long-dead best friend's orphaned child. I've never had children, Harry. Just you. I—I don't know what I'd do if I knew I'd lost you, Harry. Just remember that when you have a decision to make or something like this occurs, all right?"

Remus sounded almost as if he was pleading, Harry noticed. He nodded quickly. "I—I know, Remus," he said quickly, though he wasn't sure he had until Remus had told him. Did Remus really care about him that much? He was surprised to realize that he hoped that his new guardian really did care about him.

"I've never been that scared, Harry," Remus said seriously. "Never."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, unsure what to say. Remus sighed.

"It's not your fault, really," the werewolf said. "I don't know what I mean to say…finish your lunch, Harry," Remus added. Harry blinked, thrown off by the chance in topic. Automatically he started in on the porridge, which had been kept hot by some sort of charm, and Remus watched him eat with a satisfied expression.

When Harry had finished the bowl, he set it aside with the empty soup bowl and turned back to see that Remus was staring at him again. "Are you all right?" he asked cautiously. Remus started, then looked a little embarrassed.

"I was just trying to imagine what could have happened two days ago…"

"Well, it didn't happen," Harry said firmly. "And it's not going to, Remus."

"I know…" Remus said, then seemed to shake himself. "I have to go soon, Harry," he said. "I'm supposed to be helping clear the tracks."

"Clear the…oh, that's right," Harry said, feeling a little out of it all of a sudden. "Was…everything wrecked?"

"There will have to be another Hogwarts train next year," Remus confirmed. "Very few of the cars were really salvageable. But don't worry about it. It'll be fixed within a month."

Harry nodded, starting to feel sleepy again. "Did…Pomfrey drug my food?" he asked, eyes drooping. He saw Remus smile warmly.

"I think she did," Remus agreed. "You're looking a little fuzzy."

"I…feel…"

Later, he couldn't exactly recall when he'd fallen asleep.

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A/N: Thought of making this longer, but this is where it ended. Lots of dialogue in this, but hey, there was some action, right? I just am not good at cliffies so I didn't make it one. I promise, Harry's just napping again. He's feeling fine, really. So next chapter will be up in about a week, and according to my little schedule of unwritten chapters, it's going to be about Harry (big surprise there) and his friends before and during the Welcome Feast. I'm sure it will be oh-so exciting.

Well, if you want to read it, you'll review, right? So please Read and Review and I will work hard to post again in about a week. Probably next Sunday or something. I'm not sure I can do any sooner, as I have a nasty exam this week, as well as three quizzes.

_Responses to Reviewers:_

**Dianne: **Thanks for reviewing! Your insights are always interesting, and the thought about Lily teaching Remus was very interesting. If you see it getting mentioned later, the credit goes to you. It's a good idea. Thanks!

**HPFreakout**Draco's complicated. I'll leave it at that. He keeps surprising me at every turn. We'll see where he ends up.

**Karay**Glad you liked it. I wanted it to make sense, but I didn't want Harry to linger over Occlumency. That was his obstacle last year, and as much as I understand that events can't always be separated by years, I think it was time for him to move on.

**Ash Knight: **Thanks. You've been reviewing since the beginning, along with a few others, and I'm always glad to have a faithful reviewer.

**To all: **Thank you so much for your reviews! You've all been wonderful encouragement, and I hope it continues!

Things to Ponder: The 'Castle' mentions will become important soon, and don't forget that little bit in the beginning about Voldiewarts being related to Harry, however distantly. It's not major to the story, but it explains something later. There's a few other hints floating around, and even I haven't noticed them all yet.

Happy reading,

--Miss Laine


	21. Welcome Back

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of JK Rowling's other creations. They're used purely for nonprofit reasons here.

A/N: I had a so-so week, so I haven't been spending much time writing. I'm sorry if this is a little later than you would have hoped for, but I'm working hard and trying to get more done. ALSO, I have a one-shot little thing I plan on posting at some point. So when it does, you can look forward to that. Oh, and another chapter of this, too. Otherwise, happy reading and keep on reviewing.

00000000000000 Chapter 21: Welcome Back 0000000000000000

Harry woke with a smiling brown-eyed face less than a foot from his own. "H…Hermione," he garbled. The girl grinned and nodded excitedly.

"How do you feel, Harry?" she asked eagerly. He managed a weak and very tremulous grin. He was disoriented, at the very least, and his head was swimming and his mouth felt like sand paper.

"G-good," he said, still working on strengthening his voice. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Harry, don't you lie to me," she scolded without any real malice in her voice. Harry blinked a few times, trying to make himself look better.

"Where's?" he asked. Hermione knew what he meant without him even attempting to finish the question.

"Ron's with Ginny still," his friend explained. "She's recovering really well, and most of the others are all here, waiting for classes to begin Monday. They're letting Ginny stay awake most of the day now."

"'M glad," he said. He roughly cleared his throat, and suddenly felt a glass of water pressed into his hand. He struggled to sit up and managed without assistance before taking a deep drink of the water. "Thanks," he said, voice clearer now. Hermione smiled at him, but Harry could see the sadness and fear in her smile now.

"What's wrong?" he asked, worried. Hermione smiled and dashed away a tear from her eye. "Are you all right? You weren't hurt were you?" he demanded, alarmed.

Hermione choked on tears as she laughed. "I'm fine, really," she finally managed. "It's just…it's been so terrible these past few days…"

"I'm really sorry," Harry said. Hermione scoffed.

"Harry, I'm not mad at you!" she said. "I just…with Ginny hurt and you hurt and Ron feeling guilty…"

"Guilty?" Harry interrupted again. Hermione gave a weak shrug and tried to look less upset. It didn't work.

"Ron felt bad being with Ginny more than you," she admitted. "He felt terrible when he heard that you'd woke up without us there."

"Remus came by," he said. "I understood. And I was out two days…you couldn't know when I'd wake up."

"I know, it's just…" Hermione trailed off, and Harry stayed silent while she looked past him, eyes unfocused. "You have no idea how scared we were, Harry. Your shield caught Ron, Neville, and I, and then it sort of wavered when the train hit the ground…and then again a moment later… It faded when everything came to a rest."

She turned towards him again and stared straight at him. "Harry, there was blood all over the glass when Ron pushed me up through the doors. We couldn't use magic to get out because the Headmaster had set up heavy protection wards around you…we had to crawl right past you, Harry…"

Her voice reduced to a whisper as she spoke. "You were lying there with your eyes closed and a big gash across the left side of your face…and your arm was twisted under you and your shoulder was caved in…there was blood all over the place…"

She blinked finally, just once. "I thought you were dead, Harry. They wouldn't tell me if you were going to be okay, because they couldn't move you until everyone else was out. They were going to have to use strong stabilizing magic and several protection spells to get you out and to Hogwarts."

"I'm okay now," he finally put in, voice wavering. Had it been that terrible? "I'm sorry I scared you."

"You have no idea…it was like first year," she whispered. Harry blinked.

"First year?" he asked.

"When they brought you into the infirmary…you were covered in cuts and pale as a ghost…" she told him. "I thought you'd been killed. Back then, I'd never seen Dumbledore so grave."

"You never said anything then," he objected, feeling confused and inexplicably guilty. He hadn't meant to make his friends worry so much.

"You woke up and were fine," she said with a shrug. "I used to think Dumbledore was all-powerful back then, too. We all did. If he said you would be okay, I believed it."

"Well, I still didn't mean to get hurt," he assured her. "I didn't even think about the fact that I would get thrown forward when the train hit the ground. It happened too fast for me to prevent it."

"I know," Hermione said with a sigh. "I just wish everything didn't happen to you."

"Everything didn't happen to me," he said. "Ginny and a lot of others got hurt too, you know."

"Yeah," she agreed. "But…it's just…"

"What?" he pressed when she stopped.

"Well, you have so many close calls, all the time," she admitted. "There have been so many times over the years when you should have died, but, thank Merlin, didn't."

Harry couldn't help but wonder if that was somehow tied to the prophecy, but he couldn't ask Hermione about it. Not now.

He knew he would tell Hermione and Ron was he was ready, but he also knew that he was nowhere near ready.

"Luck," he offered instead. Hermione regarded him a moment.

"Luck runs out."

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_Welcome all, for another year,_

_At our wonderful, Hoggy Hogwarts.___

_Just in case you didn't know it,_

_I am a magical hat that sorts._

_Usually I speak about four houses,_

_Each with traits that describe them best,_

_I tell you what you can expect to find,_

_In your new homes with the rest.___

_But__ this year is different,_

_This year I do not care_

_To tell you where you should be_

_Because dividing you is not fair._

_I sang it last year, I warned you all,_

_And__ I'll do it until you listen,_

_Every year and in every fall.___

_I sort new students into their Homes_

_Every year I must divide this school,_

_Splitting students to their sides.___

_Forcing them to fit a mold_

_Their true nature, it hides._

_It is dangerous__, it is folly,_

_And__ I will warn you just once more_

_That I do not think that this rule_

_Is worth doing what I'm for._

_It is my duty to sort you out,_

_And__ I cannot refuse,_

_But__ every year it gets worse,_

_With sorting, you stand only to lose._

_I said know the perils__, heed the signs,_

_Hogwarts is in grave danger,_

_And disunited Hogwarts lines_

_Will not be able to save our world.___

_I'm__ sure somewhere I'm requested_

_To say a bit about each place to go,_

_But__ I think perhaps we have invested_

_Too much into this senseless show.___

_Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff,_

_Slytherin, and Ravenclaw,_

_Four houses that should be together_

_In this war that ever closer draws,_

_I know you won't listen to me,_

_Wizards think they know_

_More than a tattered, battered hat_

_But__ I've had decades to grow_

_And__ I think that perhaps I do know. _

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"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!" Dumbledore exclaimed, as he did every year. "I am glad to see that all of the students that were on the Hogwarts Express have made it here today, and I would like to apologize again for letting something like that attack occur."

Harry watched the old man speak with only half of his attention—the rest was on the hall, full of students but certainly not as full as it had been previous years. There were gaps at the Slytherin table in the upper years, while there were gaps in the lower years of all of the other houses.

Dumbledore was speaking about the need for unity, about the fact that he was _not _all-powerful and attacks could and would happen, as had been proved. But Harry's thoughts weren't on the Headmaster's words.

Harry's thoughts were mostly on the Sorting Hat's warning song, which had been similar to its song the year before. He wondered just how much a hat could possibly know—but then again, it certainly was no ordinary hat. This year he knew that _he _was taking the warning more to heart. The hat didn't seem to say anything that didn't hold at least a little real warning.

"This past year has been difficult for many," Dumbledore continued, and Harry watched the man's blue eyes rove over the students, never pausing on any table. "I know that many of you have felt the repercussions of the growing strife, and I wish to assure you that Hogwarts is one of the safest places you can be. But, as I said a year and a half ago, Voldemort is back."

That sentence brought a crescendo of murmurs and whispers. Harry watched the younger, just-sorted first years look around with frightened eyes. Had he ever looked that innocent and afraid, he wondered? It didn't seem possible. "I will not ease your discomfort by avoiding his name," Dumbledore said after a moment. "Voldemort is nothing more than a word, a silly title that a terrible man has given himself. Fearing a word only increases your fear of the thing."

Dumbledore's eyes locked with someone in the hall, but Harry could not see who before Dumbledore's gaze turned onto him. "I would ask that you all exercise caution, especially after our disastrous return to Hogwarts. The derailment of the Hogwarts Express and the attack upon it just go to show that Voldemort is not planning to stay quiet for long. He wants power, and he will do all he can to get it."

Harry inclined his head just slightly, and Dumbledore smiled slightly but did not look away. "Voldemort will be defeated only if we present a united front. It is important that in these coming years we work together every step of the way, and I would ask that, in order to accomplish this, all of you work to overcome your prejudices and befriend ALL of Hogwart's houses."

Dumbledore was silent for several moments while the tables regarded each other nervously. Harry wasn't watching them though. His eyes had traveled down the head table to where a strange man sat. The DADA teacher, he assumed.

"On a more mundane note," Dumbledore finally continued, "the list of illegal items has been extended greatly to include every product currently on Weasley Wizarding Wheeze's order form. If you wish to see the complete list, it is available at Mr. Filch's office. The Forbidden Forest is strictly Forbidden as usual, and this year I would ask that no student travel alone on the grounds, nor step off of Hogwarts boundaries for any reason."

Dumbledore gestured down the table. "We also have another new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor; Professor Murkwater."

Harry looked over the man as he stood, noting mainly that the man's smile looked very forced, and his eyes were darting over the hall rapidly. Murkwater gave a small wave before sitting back down quickly.

"All of the educational decrees ordered by Dolores Umbridge last year have also been removed," Dumbledore added, almost as an afterthought. Harry had already known, but it was nice to be sure that he could once again play Quidditch.

"There is little else to be said, except 'Tuck in!'"

Harry couldn't help but notice that the cheeriness in Dumbledore's voice seemed a little forced.

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Since Ron and Hermione were once again prefects, and even Ginny was now a prefect, Harry found himself walking back to Gryffindor effectively on his own. There were some second and third year Gryffindors in several groups heading back towards the dorm, but no one that he really knew.

He slowed his stride even more, letting everyone get ahead of him. He wanted to be alone for just a bit, so he could think a little. He was seriously considering telling Ron and Hermione about the Prophecy sometime within the next few days, but he really didn't know how to say it. Did he just say 'hey, either I have to kill Voldemort or he'll kill me,' or should he work into it more gradually and hope his friends figured out the right questions to ask to get the answer from him?

He didn't realize just how far behind he'd fallen until a hand stopped him. He twisted around and stepped back, unbalancing, but even before he'd regained his footing his wand was out, trained on whoever had stopped him.

"Good reflex, Mr. Potter."

It was Professor Murkwater, Harry realized. The dirty-blonde of the man's hair was rather distinctive. "Hello, Professor," Harry said automatically, keeping his wand handy. He didn't know who this man was, and he sure didn't trust him yet. If he ever did.

"You shouldn't wander the halls alone," the man said. "Especially without paying attention to your surroundings."

Harry shrugged, feeling uncomfortable. "I've got a lot on my mind."

"I'm sure you do," Murkwater said. Harry stepped back.

"I—I'm heading back to my dorm now," he said. "Er—"

"Go," Murkwater said with a wave of his hand to gesture. Brown eyes locked with green. "Be careful, Potter."

"I will," Harry promised uneasily, looking away and turning to go. Murkwater did not say anything as he went to leave, so he hurried down the hall and around a corner as quickly as he could.

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"Could that prat have babbled on any longer?" Harry heard Ron's tired voice even from where he sat in the common room, reading about animagi.

"He just wanted to be thorough," came Hermione rejoinder. "And it's not like we _have _to listen to every word he says."

"What, you, Hermione, saying we don't have to listen?" he heard Ron respond. He looked up from his book as Hermione and Ron came all the way into the common room. They saw him wave and came over, smiling.

Harry smiled, too, until he saw Ginny come in alone, behind them, and head for her dorm immediately. "How are you feeling, Harry?" Hermione asked. Harry rolled his eyes, pushing Ginny out of his mind for the moment.

"Just as fine as I was this evening," he told her. "I feel great. I promise."

"At least you didn't have to listen to some Ravenclaw babble on and on about our responsibilities," Ron grumbled. Harry laughed, closing his book and setting it aside. He noticed Hermione's eyes scanned the title quickly, but she didn't say anything about it.

"Are there any new rules?" Harry asked. "Just in case we want to break them."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "A lot of security stuff," she said. "The Head Boy and Girl are both given a lot of information, I think, and they were both pretty nervous. I think they're afraid that Dumbledore's protection isn't going to be enough. Like with the Hogwarts Express."

"Well, I don't see why they shouldn't be scared," Harry said reasonably. "There's a lot of reasons to be afraid, but I don't think acting like it is going to help."

"I think you should know," Hermione began, then looked kind of hesitant.

"Go on," Harry said. Hermione sighed.

"Well, you got mentioned at the meeting," she admitted. Harry blinked, feeling a little confused as to why he'd be talked about at a prefect meeting.

"What for?"

"Well, the head boy thinks that we're in more danger cuz you're here," Ron stated, then rolled his eyes. "I mean, it's not like You-Know-Who wants to kill Dumbledore or anything."

Harry felt anger burning inside, and he pushed it down. His friends didn't deserve to have his anger taken out on them. "That's stupid. Where else am I supposed to go?"

"Don't get upset, please," Hermione asked him. "They're just stupid, and if Dumbledore knew he'd set them straight."

Harry wanted to ask whether they'd rather have the supposed only one that can kill Voldemort at school with them or not, but remembered quickly that that wouldn't make any sense to Ron or Hermione. "It's getting late," he said instead. He stood and stretched, picking up his book.

"Yeah, sure," Ron agreed, and Hermione didn't object. Harry saw Ron hesitate and grinned, heading up the stairs to the dorm. That would give Ron enough time to give Hermione a good kiss goodnight.

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When he was sure that Ron had fallen asleep, snoring quietly on his bed, Harry threw back his covers and slipped out of bed. He silently tip-toed out of the dorm room and down into the common-room. Since it was only a little past midnight now, there were still a half-dozen students in the common room, mostly seventh-years. But Harry was looking for someone in particular.

He had to wait, curled up on a sofa, for an hour before she emerged from her dorm, obviously trying to avoid any possible contact with him. He stood up, forcing himself to confront her.

"Ginny, we need to talk," he said aloud.

She started badly, whirling towards him with wide hazel eyes before relaxing. Some. "We don't need to—" she started, but Harry cut her off.

"We do," he said. "Now. This can't keep up like this."

Ginny sighed and nodded, and he waited for her to come over to the couches before sitting down again. She sat down across from him, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. "What do you want to talk about, Harry?" she asked warily. Harry sighed.

"I didn't get a chance to visit you in the hospital," he said first. "I wanted to."

"I was fine," she said. "Ron and Hermione were there a lot."

"I didn't mean for you to get hurt," he said. She blinked at him.

"It wasn't like _you _ordered the attack," she said. Harry noticed that she didn't say that he hadn't been the reason for the attack.

"Ginny," he said, trying to stay patient with her. "I'll understand if you don't want to talk to me or be friends with me or whatever, but every time I see you dart away in order to avoid being in the same room as me, I feel terrible."

Ginny reddened. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm trying."

"I can't help who I'm related to," he told her gently. She looked up at him with haunted eyes.

"My nightmares changed for a bit," she said. "For a while, instead of Riddle being in that diary, it was _you._"

"I'm sorry," he said, feeling inexplicably ashamed.

She shook her head. "Don't be," she said. "It's stupid, I know…but whenever I see you…it's like looking at Riddle."

"I'm not him. I'm not even that closely related," he tried. She sighed.

"I can't help it," she said. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You trusted me for four years," he said. "Why does that have to change?"

Ginny looked down at her knees, then up again. Her eyes were brimming with tears, and Harry got up and moved over next to her. She stiffened, then suddenly started to sob.

Awkwardly, having never really experienced either end of a situation like this, he put his arms around her. He thought she would try to pull away from him, but instead she turned towards him, burying her face into his chest, sobbing hysterically now.

He didn't know what to do really, so he just held onto her while she sobbed, hiccupping every now and then. She shook and sobbed for five minutes before she got it back under control and looked up at him with red-rimmed eyes.

"I'm s-sorry, Harry," she said. "I never meant to be so cold."

"It's all right," he assured her. She continued to look up at him with a tear-stained face, and before he could react, she'd stretched up a little further and pressed her lips to his.

He was frozen with shock, wondering what Ron would think if he came down, and wondering just why Ginny was doing this…he thought she had a boyfriend, didn't she?

He didn't have long to wonder in frozen shock before Ginny pulled away, a sad expression on her face.

They stared at each other silently for almost a minute.

"That was weird," Ginny said softly. Harry could only nod. The kiss hadn't felt like anything to him…even Cho's had meant more.

"I don't think…" he started, but Ginny cut him off with a nod.

"It's like kissing my brother or something," she said, looking conflicted. "I guess I'll just keep on dating Dean."

"Agreed," Harry said, relieved. While Ginny was a nice girl, and a nice person, he'd never really considered going out with her. She was like a sister to him.

"I've gotta get to bed," Ginny said finally. Harry gave her a last squeeze before letting her go.

"Are we okay now?" he asked. Ginny nodded.

"Yeah, yeah we are," she said, then smiled at him for the first time since she'd learned of his ancestry. "Goodnight, Harry."

"G'night, Ginny," he said.

She turned and went up the stairs to her dorm, and Harry sighed and stood up, feeling odd.

Feeling like a big brother, he realized. He smiled. It felt good.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Harry walked along the path very carefully, keeping his eye out for any danger. The trees were close in on both sides of him, and it was threatening to rain. A harsh and chilling wind was slashing down the path, and the dirt under his shoes was soft and loose.

It was much too dark to see anything but ominous shapes, and Harry nervously kept going, wanting to reach the path's end.

Several times, he thought he heard a rustle that wasn't caused by the wind, but each time he whirled around there was nothing behind him. Unnerved, he started to run forward, throwing all caution to the wind. He needed to get to the end of the path. He needed to escape whomever or whatever was haunting his steps.

In an instant, he'd burst out of the forest and onto a hillside that sloped up in front of him.

Up until it stopped at the sheer stone walls of a gigantic castle.

Harry had never seen it from the outside. Before, he had always been in its interior, wandering its hallways and rooms. He had never seen the thick stone walls that now loomed ahead of him, rising up from the ground like gigantic cliffs.

But his attention was soon drawn to the group on the hillside. Dark-robed figures that stood in a circle. There was someone on the ground, but Harry could not see who it was from where he stood.

He tried to get closer, but no matter how much he tried to climb the slope in front of him, he kept sliding back down it. It was as if someone was forcing him away from it, and he finally gave up and let the invisible force push him back to the end of the path.

And then lightening cracked and the rain began to pour down in great torrents, turning the loose dirt to mud in a matter of minutes. Harry struggled through the mire, trying to figure out just what he was supposed to be doing, and stumbled into the side of some wooden building.

Lightening lit up whatever he'd hit, and he realized that a very small wooden structure stood in front of him, with something written under the overhang.

He waited, shivering with cold, until lightening struck again, and read the words as fast as he could.

_A warning to all who travel here,_

_Who wish to force their way,_

_Entrance is granted only_

_To those who pay._

_The Key to entry is not what you think,_

_Nor is it what you hold._

_The doors will not open for anyone,_

_To let you in from the cold.___

It took five different cracks of lightening in order to read this all, and afterwards Harry stared at it, confused. What did it mean? To get into the castle, you needed a key…but it wasn't a key like a real, metal, key. Or…

The second stanza was too ambiguous for him to figure out now. He needed a key, but he had a feeling it wouldn't be a conventional metal key. Or maybe it was. He wasn't sure. All he did know was that he needed to remember this and write it down.

Just as soon as he woke up.

He curled under the edge of the building, trying to stay dry while he waited. He never could seem to wake himself up from these…whatever they weres…but that didn't mean he had to wander around in the rain waiting for it to happen.

But then there was a dark shape. Another, another, and another.

All around him. Advancing.

He flattened against the wall behind him, pressing himself against the wood as best he could. He hoped they hadn't seen him.

But then lightening flashed and he knew he had to have been illuminated by the bright light. His enemies had been, giving him long enough to see black cloaks and white masks. Death Eaters…and he was circled.

He raised his wand, determined to fight even if this was just some sort of dream. "Get back!" he shouted, then tried to dart sideways, away from the building.

A red blast hit next to him, knocking him back towards the center of the semi-circle. He struggled on hands and knees to get to his feet, but the mud sucked and pulled at his body and he couldn't seem to drag himself free.

It was as if the mud was dragging him downwards, twisting around his arms and legs and keeping him from pulling free. The Death Eaters were advancing too fast for him to fight back, but they hadn't attacked again. They just watched him, white masks stretching and twisting out of shape as they coldly watched the mud sucked him under.

And with a last gasp he was engulfed in darkness.

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"HARRY!" Ron shouted. Harry screamed and sat up, tangled in his sheets so much that he unbalanced and would have rolled off the bed if Ron hadn't grabbed his arm and pulled him back to the center of the bed. "You all right, mate?" Ron asked, concerned.

Harry gulped several times, breathing hard as he remembered the mud closing over his head. He looked around with out of focus eyes and saw several pale faces staring at him. He'd woken up everyone in the dorm. "I'm okay," he said. "A nightmare. Just a nightmare."

Ron watched him a moment, and Harry looked away. "You sure, Harry?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"This time, I am," he said. No need to mention that he'd been having this recurring whatever ever since his birthday. "What time is it?" he asked.

Ron grimace. "Three in the morning."

Harry groaned, lying back down. "Sorry I woke you all up," he said.

He heard Ron laugh a few times, but he'd already closed his eyes again, feeling exhausted now more than when he'd went to bed.

"Welcome back to Hogwarts, everyone," Ron said.

Harry heard several chuckles before he slipped back into a completely dreamless sleep.

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A/N: Well, I despise my attempt at a Sorting Hat song, and I have to say that my poetry attempts suck. I don't usually care about making things rhyme, but JKR does in her sorting hat songs, so I tried. If anyone has anything better they'd like to contribute, or even any suggestions at all, I'd love them.

I'd like to post an apology for asking for reviews so much. I've gotten a lot of negative comments about asking for them so much, so I'm going to stop. Review/don't review as you see fit. I just hope you're enjoying the story.

On a good note, I already have five pages of the next chapter typed, since I was going to put it in this chapter but decided to move it. So it's coming along and will hopefully be out next weekend. I'll make up for my lateness eventually, when I post at the part where I already have a few chapters done.

Thanks for reading,

--Miss Laine


	22. Betrayal

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter nor anything at all related to it.

A/N: It took me a while to develop this chapter, and a lot of extra reading. I guess I'm just not very good at student-teacher interactions, so I spent some time reading other fics and trying to get a feel for how the fics I like work scenes like that. Hopefully, this works out. I promise, I'm doing the best I can.

000000000000000 Chapter 22: Betrayal 000000000000

The next morning, Harry made a point to wait for Ron and Hermione before heading down to breakfast. He did not trust that Professor Murkwater would stay away from him, and he didn't feel safe being around the professor alone. He'd trusted the Moody-impersonator in his fourth year, and he'd never suspected Quirrel first year. Not until it was too late, of course.

Those had been two very disastrous mistakes.

"Class schedules," McGonagall announced, handing out three cards to Harry and his friends. Harry took the proffered schedule, scanning over his classes quickly.

"Transfiguration, Herbology, and Care of Magical Creatures," Ron said, sounding relieved. "No Potions until Tuesday!"

"Yeah, but it's for three hours," Hermione pointed out. Ron groaned.

"Hermione!" he whined. "Don't ruin it!"

"We have DADA Tuesdays and Thursdays before Potions," Harry said quietly. "In the mornings. We'll get a chance to hear about this new professor before we have him."

Ron gave him a sympathetic expression. "At least it can't be any worse than it was last year."

"Well, he can't say you're lying about You-Know-Who," Hermione added. Harry laughed.

"That's true," he agreed, then sobered as he remembered his short meeting with Murkwater in the hall the night before. He leaned closer to his friends, and they listened quietly as he told them what happened. Hermione, of course, told him to be careful and not go anywhere alone, and Ron immediately said that maybe the Professor was a death eater.

Hermione scoffed. "Dumbledore wouldn't make that mistake again," she said. Harry sighed.

"Well, he did it twice, sort of, didn't he?" he pointed out. "Quirrell and Moody?"

Hermione looked miffed. "Well, he doesn't purposely hire someone that's trying to kill you, Harry," she said defensively. Harry shrugged.

"So it's like I figure," he said calmly. "Stay on our guard around this guy, and we'll be fine."

"I suppose," Hermione said unsurely, then suddenly glanced at her watch and gasped, jumping to her feet and grabbing her bag.

"Come on!" she called, almost leaving the boys behind as they hurried to gather up their bags. "We're late!" she added. Harry and Ron hurried to catch up to the almost-flying witch, running down the hall until they reached her. "Late for our first class," she grumbled, once she realized that there was no way that they'd make it on time. Harry didn't really care if they were late, but Hermione sounded embarrassed.

"At least we haven't run into…" Ron started to say, but trailed off. "Snape," he groaned.

Harry looked over, and saw Professor Snape standing in a side hallway, arms folded. "Well, well, well," he said coldly. Harry frowned, trying to keep from all-out glaring. He hadn't seen Snape except for a glance at the Welcome Feast, and he'd hoped to keep it that way until the very last possible moment.

"We're going to class," Hermione explained. "We lost track of time, Professor, and…"

"Don't give me your excuses," Snape spat. Hermione shut her mouth with a snap, looking affronted. Ron's face flushed red as he stepped forward, but Harry saw Hermione put a soothing hand on his shoulder.

"Was there something you wanted, sir?" he asked, letting some of the anger he felt leak into his voice. He had had plenty of time now to get over the embarrassment he'd felt when Snape had used Legillimency on him that morning over the summer, and all that was left was the anger and that deep hate. Snape eyed him with a very ambiguous expression. Harry couldn't tell precisely what the professor was thinking but he refused to look away.

"Students should be in their first classes by this time," Snape said. "You three are not."

"Don't you have a class to teach?" Ron asked insolently. Snape scowled.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley," he announced. Ron scowled, but didn't say anymore.

"Is that all?" Harry asked. He turned to go, pushing his friends ahead of him, but Snape's voice reached him anyway.

"I would advise against being late to class again, Potter. You never know who might find you in these halls."

Harry pretended to ignore the words, but he wondered if perhaps Snape was trying to tell him to beware Professor Murkwater. It didn't matter, he decided as they filed into the Transfiguration classroom, three minutes late. He'd take care of any situation that arose on his own. He sure as hell didn't need Snape's assistance.

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"I haven't heard much either way on the guy," Ron informed Harry the next morning, after having spent all of Tuesday's breakfast planning for Quidditch practices and try-outs. Now, they were in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, waiting nervously for their new professor to arrive. "Everyone's been pretty vague on their evaluations of him, so far."

"Well, he hasn't killed anyone, so that has to be good," Harry sighed. Hermione turned to glare at him. She was sitting ahead of them with Neville, who looked much more nervous than anyone else.

"Just don't give him a reason to hate you, Harry," she asked. Harry blinked.

"Since when have I _tried _to make teachers hate me?" he asked, feeling a little angry. He didn't remember trying to provoke teachers…even with Umbridge, he'd only spoken out to stop her from telling the class terrible lies. Hermione sighed.

"Just don't provoke him, all right?" she asked. Harry just stared at her, refusing to answer. She turned back with a pensive expression as the door at the front of the classroom opened, and Professor Murkwater came through it, closing the door quickly before turning to face the students.

"I have heard from many that last year's Defense professor was not helpful," the man started, looking around. Harry felt the man's eyes rest on him a moment before moving on. "Although I did hear that a club was formed to remedy the situation."

Hermione raised her hand. "We had a school club for those wishing to learn practical defense," she explained. "Harry taught it."

Harry reddened, wishing Hermione hadn't said anything. He figured she was trying to show she was sorry for what she'd said before class, but it wasn't helping.

"Really?" Murkwater said softly. "As I was told, you were building an army," he added, a tinge of humor in his tone. Harry stared at the man's almost laughing face, noting quickly that the man's eyes were deadly serious.

"Seeing as the professor was worthless, we had to do something," Dean Thomas spoke up grouchily.

There were numerous cheers with his remark, but Murkwater silenced them with a wave. "Hopefully," he said, "This year will be much better. I was an auror for over a decade before I started teaching, so I have a great deal of personal experience in this field. Our focus in this class will be on practical defense, as well as offence. Defending yourself from harm is not enough to win a battle. You have to attack as well, or at last counter-attack."

Harry looked around, noting that just about everyone looked interested in what Murkwater had to say. They were with Hufflepuff for this class, and most of the sixth-years looked interested and somewhat excited. Of course, they'd all listened to the impostor-Moody two years earlier with just as much interest. It didn't mean anything either way.

"First of all, we'll work with simple stunning spells," Murkwater went on. "It can be shielded against fairly easily, but if it is not done right or the wrong type of shield is used, then it will be ineffectual. An opponent can kill you with an Unforgivable, but if you're stunned you're as good as dead."

The man's gray eyes roved the room. "Who would like to help me demonstrate?" he asked. No one said a word.

Harry sighed and raised his hand. This would be a good opportunity to get an idea of the man's ability, he figured. Just in case he needed to know.

Murkwater acknowledged him with a nod. "Mr. Potter," he said, gesturing for Harry to come forward. "I'm going to demonstrate the two spells we will work with today," he directed. "Shield them as best you can, Potter."

Harry nodded, raising his wand. They backed away from each other until they were about thirty yards apart, and then Murkwater raised his own wand. "Stupefy!" he said.

"Protego," Harry said, not bothering to shout the spell.

The red stunner bounced off his shield and crashed into the stone ceiling. Murkwater nodded. "Good. Petrificus Totalus!"

Instead of casting a shield, Harry easily side-stepped the spell. Murkwater smiled. "Of course," the professor said aloud, "Sometimes the best defense is just to step out of the way of an incoming spell."

Harry stayed up at the front, wand held ready, and watched Murkwater's eyes rove over the class. Harry could tell that this man had definitely been an auror—he was like Moody, scanning everything with a subtle but keen eye.

Murkwater turned to him with a small but genuine smile.

"You may be seated Mr. Potter. And thank you," Murkwater said. Harry took his seat. Murkwater's spells hadn't seemed that strong to him. Certainly he hadn't had to put much energy into his shield in order to deflect the first spell. But then again, perhaps Murkwater was not a strong, or perhaps he hadn't wanted to reveal himself entirely.

"Let's split into pairs and begin working on shielding charms," Murkwater said to the class. "Protego, mostly, and I will test each and every one of you on it. It is very important to learn your basic shielding spell, so that you can learn more complicated shields later. Mr. Potter here is already skilled enough to learn a few more types of shields."

Harry looked down. He didn't like it when people drew attention to him like that. Like Hermione had done at the beginning of class, no matter that she probably hadn't realized that it would make him uncomfortable.

It wasn't as if he could stay mad at her, he decided with a sigh, before pairing up with Neville and getting to work on shield spells that he'd known well for years.

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Halfway through the period was when it had happened. The class had moved on to demonstrating shield spells against Professor Murkwater, and almost all the way through that was when things went not so much _wrong _as…in an interesting direction.

Harry hadn't really been paying attention, much more focused on dreading the three-hour potions lesson coming up after this class finished. The Professor was testing a Hufflepuff girl, and her shield raised unsteadily. It was not perfectly done, and the red blast of a Stupefy bounced off at an unusual angle.

He didn't even think. He just raised his wand in surprise, words forming too slowly on his lips to keep up, and then suddenly the red light was gone.

Nobody said a word for a minute, perhaps more, and Harry blinked. Spells didn't usually just disappear like that. Not without some sort of evidence of their destruction or deflection.

"What did I do?" he asked the room in general.

Murkwater's slow applause rang out through the room for a few moments, then died. "Very well done, Mr. Potter," the man said. "You've just managed another type of shield. One that I had planned on introducing sometime around Christmas."

Harry blinked again, feeling really confused. "Huh?" was his intelligent response.

"What Potter did would be termed a passive shield," the Professor lectured, looking over the whole class. "There is not incantation to it—you just have to have the skill and the intent to create it. Some do not have the concentration to do spells without speaking the incantation, but most do, if they work hard enough."

Harry looked at his wand. How did it know what he wanted it to do, if he didn't say anything? Although how did his wand know what he wanted to do, when he _did _say something? It wasn't like it had ears…

"Stupefy," he heard. He looked up, raised his wand in shock as he saw that Murkwater had just sent another stunning spell his way, and once more the spell disappeared just feet from his head.

He swallowed, still feeling a little confused. "Er…I don't know quite what I'm doing," he said aloud.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Murkwater said in response. Harry still had his wand raised, and at the last moment realized that his mind was blank. He _really _had no idea what he was doing at all.

He fell over with a solid thump, his body frozen solid. "And that," Murkwater said aloud, while Harry waited for someone to unfreeze him, "Is what happens when you're not prepared. Finite Incantatum."

Harry breathed a sigh of relief as his limbs relaxed, and he stood up stiffly, rubbing his very sore shoulder. He definitely wanted to ask Dumbledore about this…it would be incredibly helpful if he could use spells without having to say them aloud, which seemed a pretty easy way to give away his location to enemies.

"I think that's enough for today," Murkwater was saying. "I want a scroll on shield spells, especially those that are used by aurors in the field, by Thursday. Class dismissed."

Hermione came over to him, followed by Ron. "That was really impressive, Harry," she said. "The curse just disappeared about three feet from you!"

"I don't know what I did," he admitted honestly. "I was just about to say 'Protego,' and then suddenly the stunner was gone."

Ron grinned. "Whatever it was, it was bloody brilliant," he assured Harry, who grinned a little shakily.

"Yeah, it was kind of neat, I guess," he admitted, again thinking of the possibilities. It seemed Hermione was as well, because her face lit up.

"I wonder if the library has any books on this?!" she exclaimed. Ron rolled his eyes.

"Can't that wait until this weekend?" Ron groaned. Harry laughed.

"It's going to have to wait a little while, because we've only got another five minutes to get to potions."

Hermione grabbed her bag at his words, and grabbed Ron's arm with her free hand. "Let's get going!" she said. "I won't be late for class twice in one week!"

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"That, Potter, is the most ridiculous attempt at an invisibility potion that I have ever seen."

Harry clenched his teeth together, refusing to respond angrily. "Yes, sir," he said quietly.

Snape leaned closer over his cauldron. "It seems to me that you've added a bit too much of the chameleon tail. Dump it and start over."

Harry's back stiffened as he held his anger in check, counting backwards in his head and trying to remember that it was Snape that made his vision-free nights possible. If he ticked Snape off enough, the man might see fit to be a little…slow…on his brewing.

He emptied his cauldron with a wave of his wand a quick cleaning spell, though he really just wanted to curse Snape into oblivion. "Hmm," Snape said. "It seems you don't have enough time to finish today's potion. Detention, Potter. You will do it this evening."

Harry nodded curtly, trying to keep his hands from clenching into fists. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Malfoy laughing silently. He couldn't decide at that moment who he would prefer to attack more…Snape or Malfoy? Both looked like very good choices.

But instead, he breathed out slowly and answered the sour and hateful professor. "Yes, sir," he said again.

"Seven 'o Clock, here." Harry head Ron groan softly.

"Yes, sir," Harry said again. Snape seemed to hesitate a moment, and Harry refused to look at those soulless black eyes and did not even chance looking up until the man had swept by, obviously disappointed in Harry's refusal to rise to his baiting.

He knew Ron wouldn't be too happy with him. Tonight was their Quidditch tryouts. At exactly seven, which Snape had probably known. Harry figured that he'd probably get to keep his position anyway, since Ginny had seemed pretty interested in trying for Chaser this year. Ron could take care of the tryouts—he _was _the captain.

He felt a hand pat his shoulder, and turned to see Hermione smiling encouragingly. Harry just stared at her a moment, then shrugged. She might think it was a good thing that he hadn't talked back to Snape, but letting the man walk all over him was ridiculous. He'd live with Snape until he didn't have to any longer.

And in the meantime, he'd keep himself content with the idea of punching Snape straight in the jaw the day he graduated.

_If he lived that long, _a voice in the back of his head whispered. He quashed that thought violently. He had every intention of living well past that point.

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Harry trudged down to the dungeons with a feeling of utter loathing lodged in his chest. The last place he wanted to be was the dungeons, and the last person he wanted to see at the moment was Snape. Actually, he thought dryly, the last person he wanted to see at the moment was Voldemort, but Snape was a close second.

"Hello?" he said, to the empty Potions classroom that lay before him. He hoped for a wild moment that Snape had forgotten or found something better to do than torture him, but his hopes were dashed in a cruel instant.

"Potter."

He jumped about a foot in the air and whirled around, wand out. Snape had snuck up behind him, and now wore a very wide smirk. "How wonderful of you to make it."

The words dripped with disdain, but Harry just focused on putting his wand back into his pocket, keeping his face down in order to school his anger back into cold indifference. "What do you want me to do…_sir_?" he asked. Snape stalked past him.

"Just as I said, Potter. The potion. You have an hour, starting now."

Harry didn't say anything. He just got his cauldron from the cupboard at the back of the room, along with his ingredients. He hoped he'd have enough time to finish the potion…but it had taken almost two hours for even Hermione to finish hers during class. He was fairly certain he didn't stand a chance.

Quickly, he set to work anyway, setting up his cauldron quickly and measuring out ingredients. The instructions were in his notes, and when he reached the point he'd gotten to during he class he had to dig them out quickly.

Luckily, nothing had happened during that time and he quickly went onto the next step. As he read it, he realized with a sudden fatalism that there were at least another dozen steps, which would take over an hour on their own.

And he only had fifteen minutes left.

It figured, he thought bitterly. "Murkwater mentioned you several times at dinner tonight."

Harry jumped again, and silently groaned as the vial of ground crystal he'd been holding jogged, sending a great deal too much of the fine powder cascading into his cauldron. He knew at that moment that if he looked around, Snape would be smirking, condescending laughter in his eyes. "Did he?" he said instead, leaving off the 'sir' on purpose. If Snape wanted to be more snarky than he usually was, he wasn't going to try to be the least bit civil.

_Someday, I'm going to knock his teeth out, _Harry told himself quietly. _He's__ going to find out very quickly that I'm not a little boy that he can push around._

"Its seems a certain _celebrity _couldn't avoid a chance to show off today in class," Snape spat. Harry forced himself to turn around and folded his arms across his chest.

"It was an accident, and I had no idea what I'd done, as I _said _in class," he said. "Besides, I have no reason to defense myself to you. You're my potions professor, not my DADA professor."

"One would hope that you could learn to be a little more…intelligent…as the years passed," Snape, almost hissing.

"Sorry," Harry said sarcastically. "Next time I'll try to keep the accidents to a minimum."

He looked at the clock on the wall. "My hour's up, _sir,_and the potion is again 'unsatisfactory,' I'm sure. Is that it?"

"Get out, Potter," Snape spat.

Harry needed no urging. He cleaned up his mess quickly and was out the door in less than five minutes.

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It was mid-October, actually just one week before Halloween and the anniversary of his parent's death. Classes were going…as well as could be expected, Harry decided. Ron had reported that Kirke and Sloper were still their beaters, however terrible they still were, and Katie, Ginny, and a second-year boy named Mark Evans were their Chasers.

His friend seemed to have channeled the spirit of Oliver Wood somehow, and Ron had scheduled practices for every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evening, all in preparation for their first game on the last Saturday before Halloween. Between the practices and classes, Harry was starting to feel heavily strung out.

And of course, the interactions between himself and Snape had grown more and more tense, and Harry could almost feel the hatred in Snape's gaze every time it landed upon him.

Murkwater's class was almost worse, in some ways. The man took every opportunity to point out Harry's 'skill' with passive spellwork, and although Harry tried not to do too much, he ended up having to demonstrate as he got the hang of passively blocking several other spells. And with each improvement he made, Snape's gaze became that much more hateful.

And Harry was starting to wonder just why.

He dreaded Potions with a dire passion, but Hermione was insistent every single time. She continually assured him that things would be all right, and that Snape couldn't fail him without reason.

This wasn't reassuring. Especially since Ron seemed to think that Snape was planning on turning him over to Voldemort or something. Harry knew that that wasn't going to happen, but in class it certainly seemed like a very real possibility.

And so he was dreading Tuesday's potions class, a leaden feeling in his stomach. He was tired from heavy homework loads, Quidditch practice (in which Ron worked them liked machines), and worrying about the huge fortress that was still randomly appearing in his dreams.

"Get out your textbooks," Snape said tersely once the bell had rung. "Today is lecture notes only. Pay attention, because I will _not _repeat myself."

Harry exchanged a quick eye-roll with Ron before taking out his quill and several loose sheets of parchment. He stared hatefully at Snape's back while the man picked up his notes.

"The next section of this class involves poisons, and as such has heavy restrictions placed upon it. The Ministry feels the need for me to impress on your mostly useless and empty minds that poisonous potions are not to be taken lightly."

Harry ignored Snape's eyes as they glared at the Gryffindor half of the classroom. He heard Malfoy snigger, and decided he couldn't wait for the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. He was going to make Malfoy wish he'd never heard the word Quidditch.

He was fervently hoping that he'd get the chance to try a Wronski Feint on Malfoy, and he grinned to himself, picturing quite clearly in his head what would happen. He'd pretend to see something…he'd dive…Malfoy trying to catch up to him…and at the last minute…

He smiled again as he pictured Malfoy plowing into the turf. That would definitely be a great memory to have, he decided. Especially if Malfoy didn't get up until someone _woke _him up…

"POTTER!"

The beyond-angry shout blasted through his daydreaming, and with a start he realized that he'd lost track of Snape's incredibly boring lecture. He looked up, refusing to feel embarrassed, and he realized that everyone looked rather shocked as well. Hermione glanced back, giving him a lopsided little grin of support, and Ron looked green.

Harry just glared. "Perhaps, Potter, you would like to tell us just what has you so amused?" the man demanded.

Harry blinked, pretending to look confused. "What're you talking about, sir?" he asked.

"You have been staring at your paper, grinning like an idiot, for almost five minutes, now!" Snape growled. "Certainly there must be some thoughts floating through that vacant mind of yours?"

Harry shrugged, refusing the bait. "Maybe, sir," he agreed, keeping his voice light and the anger hidden. It was too bad Snape didn't play Quidditch…

"Perhaps I need to employ more…forceful…means to keep your attention, Potter?" Snape asked. Harry felt an icy stab in his gut. Snape's voice had gotten dangerously low now, and Harry had the very bad feeling that the man was plotting something now.

"There must be some way to keep your arrogant and empty mind on something as simple as a lecture," Snape continued. Harry heard Malfoy laugh, and he couldn't stop the tic that made his left eyelid twitch several times in a row.

Harry couldn't keep it back now. Snape was being unfairly cruel, as usual, but this was ridiculous. His not paying attention hadn't been harmful to anyone, and as far as he knew, notes were for his _own _benefit. "Well, I'm certain you're _exciting _lectures will keep me riveted," he said aloud.

He heard Hermione gasp at his words, but he didn't even look at her. She could yell at him later, and he would think about Quidditch or something the entire time. He didn't need her scolding him.

But Snape didn't seem to be anywhere near finished. "My, my, Potter," Snape said. "A little testy today, are we?" he mocked.

"How about a little tired of your ridiculous insults and attempts to provoke me!" he shot back, all the while knowing that Snape had at least succeeded on that much. He was certainly provoked now.

"Lower your voice, Potter, when you speak to a professor," Snape spat. Harry glared, noticing that everyone was watching him now, waiting for his rejoinder. It was like some sort of duel, and everyone couldn't wait to see who won.

"I will," Harry said loudly. "That is, when I see someone who is a _proper _professor."

"Detention!" Snape snarled, face almost red with rage. That was something Harry had never seen before, he realized with a little thread of fear. Snape was angry. _Very _angry.

"You'll be cleaning cupboards from now until Halloween…" Snape smiled sourly, and Harry's gut clenched. Oh no, he thought, but Snape went ahead and said it. "Of course, you should be fairly familiar with cupboards, having lived in one for so—"

"SILENCIO!" Harry roared, then without looking back tore out of the room, leaving his bag behind. He ran as fast as he could away from the dungeons, racing up the stairs and past the Great Hall as quickly as he could. He couldn't believe it.

He just couldn't believe that Snape had done that.

No matter how far his hate went, he would never mention what he'd seen in Snape's pensieve to anyone, and now Snape had betrayed his slight trust, the little sliver of something that told him that even Snape wouldn't spout off his personal life to anyone, much less a classroom with all of the Slytherin sixth years in it.

He didn't even realize that he'd ran past the Gryffindor Portrait hole until he found himself slowing to a walk, too exhausted to keep running. Snape's last words were ringing in his head, and he could imagine the few moments it would take everyone to process what Snape had said before they reacted.

Slytherins, with laughter, and Gryffindors with something far worse…pity and their questions.

He thought he heard footsteps behind him, and he took off again, sprinting away as fast as his exhausted body would let him. He took stairs two at a time, up and down, and finally collapsed in an exhausted heap in a dusty corner of some unused hallway. It was utterly silent around him, and he lay back, breathing harshly and glaring up at the stone ceiling above him. "Bastard," he growled angrily. "Good-for-nothing bastard."

He didn't say anything else. There was nothing _to _say. He couldn't undp what Snape had said in front of so many. The man was a bastard, and that was all there was to it. The hate and the anger seemed to cool at that thought, and he realized suddenly that it was ridiculous to let Snape get to him so much. The man was nothing, less than nothing. There was an icy feeling in his chest now, as he thought of Snape's words. The hate was gone. He just…didn't care…what the man said anymore. The line was crossed, and it would not be un-crossed. He couldn't imagine this being fixed. Snape could say what he liked, Harry decided. He could tell everything just what he'd pulled from Harry's mind, and he wouldn't care. None of it mattered.

And someday, Harry imagined, Voldemort would find out that Snape was a traitor and would kill him.

And at that moment, Harry hoped with every last shred of his being that it happened sometime very soon.

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A/N: Not how I originally planned this chapter, which is why it took so freakin' long to get done. The whole 'Snape blabs something' wasn't supposed to happen for a bit, but it happened now. Quidditch really got shoved to the side in this, but I just figure for Harry everything else is hugely more important. He's thinking about how he's going to live through the year and all that more than sports. Don't worry, quidditch games will get attention, especially the ever-wonderful Gryffindor vs Slytherin one. That's always exciting.

So sorry for this chapter taking so long to get done, and hopefully I'll have more time to type more this next week. Updates are probably going to occur only every two weeks, I guess. My promise of once a week really fell through. I'm just having a little trouble connecting events right now, and getting in everything that I want. So don't be surprised if this chapter gets tweaked a little between now and the next few chapters, because I might decide some things need to change.

Thanks for reading, everyone.

Miss Laine


	23. Bleak Dawn, Bright Afternoon

Disclaimer: Don't own it. Isn't it obvious by now?

A/N: I'm so proud of myself. I actually worked on this chapter the day after I posted the previous chapter, something I haven't done in a while. I've been so busy and swamped with homework and exams here at college that I never have time to get started right away. But, I have the next two chapters in my mind, so I'm writing now.

0000000000000000 Chapter 23: Bleak Dawn, Bright Afternoon 000000000000

Harry had no idea how long he sat there, staring at the other wall. His legs were drawn up to his chin, while his arms were wrapped tightly around them. He was sore and stiff from sitting so long, but he didn't move an inch. In his mind, he kept going over and over his argument with Snape, ending in that terrible sentence. Already, he'd labeled it a _betrayal,_ the worst that he'd ever felt.

He couldn't seem to stop it from replaying in his mind, and each time it did he thought he could imagine more and more the expressions on the other student's faces. Most would figure out quickly that Snape was not joking. They would realize.

And nothing he could think of could unsay what had been said. It was final.

At some point, he became aware of the form of someone standing a little bit down the hallway. He blinked a few times, then turned his head. "Remus?" he asked. Why was Remus here?

The werewolf smiled weakly and walked closer. "Harry," he said softly. Harry just watched as Remus leaned against the wall next to him, then with an aged groan slid down the wall until he, too, was seated leaning against the stones. "Albus owled me."

"How did he know…?" Harry asked. "How long has it been?"

"Your friends looked for you for an hour after class," Remus told him. "Albus thought it best to let you gather your thoughts alone first, and then he told me. I insisted on coming."

"I'm fine," Harry said automatically, anticipating the question. Remus chuckled.

"I stood there for over ten minutes, Harry," the man told him. "You're not all right. What Severus—"

"Don't," Harry said, voice devoid of feeling. "I know what he said. I can't seem to stop thinking about it. It was wrong, and it was a gross betrayal of any semblance of understanding that we might have had between us. I know that."

"He is the one that went to Albus with what happened," Remus said quietly. "It was a grave mistake on his part to lose his temper like he did."

"And yet, he still did it," Harry said softly, staring at the far wall. "I've made my fair share of mistakes, and I've certainly made some mistakes that I can never hope to atone for…but I have never mentioned to anyone beyond Sirius and you what I saw in Snape's pensieve. I've never mentioned anything at all about him being a spy. Nothing. No matter how mad I was, no matter how much I hated him…"

"I know he never shows remorse for his actions, Harry, but I know that he truly regrets what he said," Remus said gently. Harry shook his head.

"Don't you get it?" he said, feeling frustrated. "It doesn't matter if he were to come here on his hands and knees and beg me to forgive him…not that I wouldn't appreciate the gesture…" Harry admitted with a small smile, "but what he said can't be taken back. I don't care if he's sorry. I know he'd never forgive me if I even just told my friends what I saw in his pensieve, so how can he expect me to forgive him now?"

"He hasn't asked for forgiveness, Harry," Remus reminded him. "He just wished to express his regret, as hard as that is for him to do."

"I'm starting to think that he'll deserve it when Voldemort find him out," Harry said, the words echoing false and hollow in the hallway. Remus shifted to look at him sternly.

"Don't ever say that, Harry," he said gravely. "Don't ever presume to pass judgment on someone, no matter how terrible they may seem."

Harry stared into Remus's eyes, trying to convey the utter despair he was feeling. "And yet you would have me pass judgment on Tom Riddle," he said softly. "All of you. I have to do it. I have to kill him. Do I know if he deserves death? He killed my parents! He murdered dozens of families and aurors and innocent muggles! Do I have the right to say that he's got to die? Why should it be my decision?"

"That's a different situation entirely," Remus said, but Harry thought he sounded uncertain.

"I hate Snape more than I hate Voldemort," he said plainly. "Voldemort wants to kill me, I know that, but Snape…Snape has made me suffer for more than five years now. I can't remember Voldemort killing my parents as anything more than a few vague memories and my parent's last words. But I can remember the comments and the insults and the derision Snape has…bestowed…upon me very clearly. It's been building up. I guess it's reached its bursting point."

"Harry, Snape is human, just like the rest of us," Remus said softly. "He makes mistakes—the mark on his arm is his permanent reminder of the most terrible mistake he has ever made."

"And so that makes it all better?" Harry asked. "I don't care, Remus. I'm not going to forgive him. He and his comments mean nothing anymore. He can't possibly hurt me anymore than he already has."

Harry felt Remus's arm drape around his shoulders, pulling him against his guardian. "I'm not going to push the point, Harry. Just don't let yourself get stuck in a decision that you'll regret."

"I know," Harry said heavily. "I just don't think there's any other decision to make right now."

Remus seemed to have no response to that, and the two sat in silence for several minutes. Harry continued to stare at the stones, trying to ready himself to face the school once more, and Remus didn't move or say a word the entire time.

"Do you feel like heading back to the castle proper now?" Remus eventually asked, a note of normalcy finally filtering back into his voice. "That is, if I can get back up again."

"Where are we exactly?" Harry wondered, trying to sound like everything was all right as well. Remus shrugged.

"Some unused wing, I suppose," Remus said. "You have no idea how many stairs I had to go up and down to make it here. Albus had the gall to suggest that I take provisions and a blanket with me."

"He didn't give you any Lemon Drops as rations?" Harry asked mildly, willing to let himself be pulled from his depression. Remus laughed aloud, and Harry watched with amusement as the man pulled a small tissue-wrapped package from his pocket.

"There's exactly two," Remus said.

Harry took one with a smile, popping it in his mouth, and then pushed himself up from his position. His joints popped as they protested the sudden change in position, but Harry ignored it and turned to help pull Remus to his feet. "I think I'm as ready as I'm going to get. Let's get back."

"Are you sure, Harry?" Remus asked seriously, pocketing the other lemon drop. Harry nodded, knowing that he probably didn't look that convincing.

"Er…how much has what Snape said spread?" he asked nervously. He didn't know if he wanted to know the answer to that question.

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Ron and Hermione didn't say a word about what had happened. They just smiled and stood up, looking relieved to see him whole.

He came in the portrait-hole with Remus beside him, and they walked up to Ron and Hermione by the couches and the fireplace.

"I'm fine," he assured them quickly. "I was—upset," he offered, knowing they wouldn't even begin to believe that he was totally fine with what had happened.

Ron smiled grimly. "You're always fine, Harry," he said. But Ron didn't sound like he was joking. More like he was very tired. Harry shrugged.

"I just needed to be alone for a bit. Snape had no right to say anything," he said, then stopped. He didn't want to get any closer on that subject. Hermione patted his arm with a supportive smile on her face.

"You know you can talk to us anytime, Harry," she said.

"I know," he agreed. Of course they were always there…which was why sometimes he just needed to get somewhere on his own and think things through alone.

The portrait-hole swung open behind them suddenly, and Harry turned to see Neville standing in the doorway. "What is it, Mr. Longbottom?" Remus asked, alarmed. Neville shook his head.

"No, no, everything's all right," Neville got out. "Er—the Headmaster needs to speak with you both, though. Something about a silencing charm."

Harry actually laughed. It was short and he cut it off an instant later, but it was there and he felt some relief from it. "I'd forgotten about that," he said.

Remus blinked. "Huh?"

"I 'Silencio'd' Snape," Harry explained. Remus nodded.

"So that's why he wrote what happened, instead of saying it," Remus mused. "I had wondered."

"I don't want to undo it," Harry said. Remus mock-glared at him.

"Tsk tsk, Harry," Remus said. "Come on. You can't leave him like that."

"Fine," Harry sighed, serious once more. "Why doesn't Dumbledore undo it?" he asked suddenly.

"Not sure," Neville said. Harry sighed and followed Neville out the portrait-hole, Remus, Ron, and Hermione all following after him.

When the group came into Dumbledore's office, Harry immediately noticed Snape skulking in a corner, arms folded and his face shadowed. Harry was only slightly surprised that he felt nothing when he saw the man, and immediately turned to Dumbledore.

"Sir?" he asked. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"I see you have brought some…friends, Harry," Dumbledore commented. Harry looked back at his friends, all hanging about the room now.

"They came with me voluntarily, sir," he said. "What did you need me for?" he asked, trying not to be blunt but not feeling very normal at the moment anyway.

Dumbledore smiled gently again. "While I cannot force you and Professor Snape to reconcile, I would ask that you remove the silencing spell that you cast upon him. There will be no punishment for its use, as well."

Harry waved his wand carelessly at Snape. "Finite Incantatum," he said, no anger even evident in his voice. He watched Snape sweep from the room without a word before turning back to face Dumbledore. "Is that it? I'm really pretty tired, sir," he lied.

Dumbledore's blue eyes seemed to stare straight through him, and sadness and understanding shone in them for a moment. "All right, Harry," he said. "I really don't have much else to say…but perhaps we could talk alone sometime?"

Harry nodded. "Sure," he agreed. "Tomorrow after classes, sir?" he offered. Dumbledore nodded.

"That sounds like a wonderful plan, Harry," he agreed. Harry managed an only halfway forced smile, and then turned to go. Ron and Hermione left first, and Harry paused a moment, knowing that Remus probably had to leave now.

"I suppose you have to go again," he said.

"I'll see you again soon, Harry," Remus assured him, patting his shoulder in a sort of gesture that Harry had seen Mr. Weasley do with his sons.

"I'll just have to have another mental breakdown in a hallway," Harry joked flatly. Remus didn't look amused.

"Try not to, please," he said mildly. "I'd rather visit you when there's some happy news to share."

Harry smirked weakly. "I'll try."

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

The whispers started at breakfast. Harry ignored them as best he could…until Malfoy showed up.

He hadn't really thought about it, but so far Malfoy hadn't really bothered him much. Their fist-fight before school had started seemed to have worked most of the aggression out of the Slytherin, and Harry had been too preoccupied to find time to pick fights with Malfoy. It just seemed so…juvenile…to fight with Malfoy anymore.

But now, said Slytherin was standing across the table from him, arms folded on his chest and a very nasty smirk on his face. "Poor little Potter," Malfoy announced. Harry looked up and frowned.

"Yeah, something like that," he said flatly. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

The other teen just smirked wider and shrugged. "Just thought perhaps you'd be interested in rooming in one of the cupboards in the dungeons," Malfoy said. "I hear their much more roomy than what you're used to."

"Get lost, Malfoy," Ron said, and Harry could hear the suppressed anger in his friend's voice.

"Seems Potter's relatives wish he had," Malfoy said, triumphant. "Tried to hide you away in a closet for ten years…that's pretty pathetic."

Harry tried not to flush, but he could feel it creeping up his face anyway. "Just get out of here, Malfoy. We haven't got anything to say to you."

"Really?" Malfoy asked, looking mock-hurt. "I'd watch yourself, Potter. You might think you're safe here at Hogwarts, but I know differently."

"I repeat; get lost, Malfoy," Harry growled. Malfoy shrugged.

"Of course, of course," Malfoy said, voice deceptively easygoing, before turning and sauntering back to the Slytherin table.

Whispers started up anew after that, and Harry lowered his head to his breakfast, feeling like some sort of circus side-show.

"Just ignore them," Ron advised grouchily from behind his own food. "They're being stupid." He munched moodily on his breakfast, glaring around at the rest of the hall.

"It'll pass over in a week," Hermione said, but Harry could tell she wasn't sure. Who knew what would catch the notice of reporters?

"I wish they'd all just stay out of my business," Harry growled. "Haven't they got anything better to do?"

"No," Ron said fake-cheerily. "School would be pretty boring if there wasn't 'The Famous Harry Potter' around." Ron didn't sound at all jealous.

Hermione suddenly sat up, smiling brightly. "I just thought of something!" she said.

Harry eyed her dubiously, and she huffed. "You have all those letters, Harry," she told him. "Let's go find some of those people and tell them why they didn't get responses!"

"Er—" Ron started slowly.

"Actually, that sounds okay," Harry said. He couldn't hide from everyone anyway, so he might as well pretend like nothing at all had happened. "We'll have to wait until this evening…well, and after Quidditch practice…er…"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "This weekend, then," she said. "But you can make a start today. I found Ms. Julie Thomas, that fourth year Hufflepuff."

Harry groaned. "The one with the fan club?" he asked, vaguely remembering that first letter. Hermione nodded, and gestured over towards the Hufflepuff table.

"She's fifth down from the right," Hermione said. "Mid-length blond hair."

Harry saw her after a little looking. The girl had her back to him, so he didn't know what she looked like, but she was talking with her friends and giggling about something. He didn't realize he was still looking in the girl's direction, thinking back to his birthday, until one of the girl's friends looked up, saw him staring, and gasped.

All the girls turned to face him, including the admittedly pretty Julie Thomas, and he reddened and looked away quickly. The girls at the table giggled and fell back into their rapid chatter. Harry groaned. "I hate girls," he groused, then grimaced. "Except for you, 'Mione, and Ginny, and…well, Luna, er…" he stopped, feeling stupid. Hermione laughed.

"Boys aren't supposed to understand girls," she assured him. "It's a fact of life, whether magical or muggle."

Ron threw up his hands in mock exasperation. "_Now _she tells me!"

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"Everyone was whispering all day."

"It will die down, as long as you do not conform or deny it."

"That's what Hermione says. Malfoy said some things…I wasn't sure what he was talking about, and that worries me. Not that I've every believed anything he's said, but he didn't sound like he was making idle threats anymore."

"I am keeping an eye on Mr. Malfoy, I assure you. I promise that I won't let this get out of hand. Are you still angry?"

Harry shifted, shaking his head. "I'm not angry about it."

"Harry, it's not a good idea to keep anger in."

"I'm not angry," he said again.

But Dumbledore just watched him with that all-knowing expression. Harry knew for a fact that the old wizard didn't know even close to everything, but that didn't seem to stop that expression. "How could you not be?"

"I'm way past angry," Harry said, flopping down in a chair tiredly. "I just—it was enough. Completely and totally enough. I used to hate him because he wouldn't even try to understand me. Now, I just don't care whether he does or not."

"Are you sure that that's what you want?" Dumbledore asked quietly. Harry sighed. He liked how Dumbledore more often than not talked to him like he was an adult now, but he sometimes wished that he had more guidance from someone with so much experience.

"I don't know what I want," he admitted. "Everything's always so complicated."

"Ah, life," Dumbledore said with a smile. "What would it be without its complexities?"

"A lot easier," Harry sighed.

"But not as rich, I suspect," the aged headmaster rejoined. Harry nodded reluctantly.

"I suppose," he admitted. "But…what's _my _life been? Dursleys locking me up until I was eleven, and then I find out that I'm a celebrity, and then I find out I have to murder someone, and then I find out that he's related to me, however distantly. Some richness."

"Ah, but you're only looking at the bad," Dumbledore pointed out. "You have great friends, loyal friends that will never abandon you. You have those that would die for you in an instant, and those that would aid you in any way they could. Friendship and love are things you cannot truly live without. Friends that would sacrifice everything for you."

"I wish they wouldn't," Harry said softly. "It hurts more when I know they've been hurt in my place."

"And you could not even begin to imagine how much they agonize when _you _are hurt," Dumbledore reminded him. "You have not had to stare down a raging Molly Weasley when she wants her black-haired son at home."

Harry laughed, imagining that. "I'm no-one's son," he said, then looked away. He hadn't meant to say that thought aloud.

He turned back to the deep silence that had descended, and saw that Dumbledore's face was actually buried in his hands. The old man breathed a heavy sigh, then looked up again. Harry was shocked to see that those blue eyes looked much too wet. "You are a son to so many, Harry," he said gently. "I wish you would see that."

Harry laughed nervously. "I didn't mean it that way," he said. "Er…"

"If you were to ask Remus, Harry, he would assure you that he has no want for any son other than you. Molly will never regret not having another son—she has you. I'm sure Ms. Granger never wants for a brother, because she has you. And…"

Dumbledore trailed off. "It seems recently our conversations have been rather…emotional," he said with a trace of his normal amusement. "I am just glad that you are still willing to trust an old fool like myself." Harry smiled an unhappy smile as well, feeling unbalanced.

"I was so upset with you last year…I didn't understand what was going on, and after fourth year, I guess I just felt like I wasn't a kid anymore," Harry admitted. "But after five years, almost six now, I guess I just can't imagine you wanting to hurt me. You've never given me any true reason to distrust you." Dumbledore nodded slowly, eyes on Harry.

"I was afraid you would hate me, after last year," he admitted. "I made so many mistakes…"

"I think I understand that now," Harry said softly. "I've made my own mistakes, too."

Although Harry didn't say it, both he and Dumbledore knew that he was thinking about Sirius and his terrible mistakes that night.

"I regret that no one ever spoke with you at length about that night," the old man said. "It was not right to leave you by yourself, isolated and uniformed. I thought I was protecting you."

"We all make mistakes," Harry said, thinking of the Department of Mysteries. That had been a mistake, a terrible, unforgivable mistake…

"Indeed," Dumbledore said softly, then suddenly stood. Harry looked up, alarmed. "I do believe that I've made you late for a certain practice!"

Harry jumped up as well. "Blood—" he cut the curse off, remembering who he was talking to. "Er—thanks for listening to me," he said. "I'd better get out there before Ron comes after me."

"Of course," Dumbledore said with an amused smile. "I wouldn't want you to go without practice."

Harry grinned, melancholy lightened, and hurried out the door.

For the first time since the day before, he felt much better.

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"Er—Julie Thomas?" Harry asked awkwardly. He hesitated when she didn't turn at first, checking again on the letter in his hands that the name was right.

"What—" the girl started to turn, caught sight of him, and froze. She blinked several times, gaping, and then stepped back. "H—H—H"

"Harry…" he helped her. "Er—"

The girl gaped suddenly, and her blue eyes opened wide. "Harry Potter!"

Harry reddened, nodding. "That's right," he agreed. "Er—"

"You—you're…"

"Look, I just want to tell you that I got your letter!" he finally cut in, wanting to get this over. He held the letter up higher, and she caught sight of it. Her face went beet red.

"M-my letter?" she echoed. "Give me that!"

She snatched it from him almost faster than he could snatch a snitch from the air, and scanned over it quickly. "Oh Merlin," she groaned. "Oh Merlin…"

"Er—I just thought you might wonder why I never wrote back," he told her, feeling awkward. "It's—well, my mail was kept from me until this year."

She finally looked up at him, face still red. "You aren't mad about it?" she asked. "It was pretty pushy of me."

"I got a lot of letters like that," he said with a shrug. Julie frowned.

"I see," she said. He thought she sounded put out, and blinked.

"I just mean that I guess I can't really get mad at _you _when about a zillion other girls sent the same sort of thing," he tried to explain. He reddened again, glancing around at the mostly-deserted hallway. "Er—there isn't a club like that here, is there?" he worried.

She seemed to study him for a full minute, scanning his face closely, and then to his surprise, she laughed aloud. "You really don't like it, do you?" she asked.

"Like what?" he asked suspiciously. She laughed again.

"The attention. The fans," she said, with a general wave of the letter in her hand. "Hate to break it to you, but there's a _very _active Harry Potter fanclub. It's just kept quiet and secretive." Julie gave him a small smile, and for some reason Harry felt a little fluttering in his chest. "I promise, I'm not part of it…well, since first year, anway."

Harry glanced around, feeling as if at any moment a girl might come popping out of a doorway, screaming for his autograph or something. "Er…I'm not going to er…visit…or anything," he said. The girl laughed.

"You're hilarious," she said. "Thanks for returning my letter, anyway. I'd forgotten about that completely."

"Er…yeah," Harry said, wanting to get as far away as possible. The girl laughed again, shaking her head. "I—I'm just going to go now," he said, then turned and pretty much ran away. He could still hear her laughing as he hurried around a corner and out of sight.

And ran right into Hermione and Ron, both wearing twin amused expressions. "That was smooth, Mr. Famous," Ron said, grinning. "I've never heard anyone say 'er' so many times in my life."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Harry said, turning red again.

"You did fine, Harry," Hermione assured him. "Just think, one down, and something like fifty more to go."

Harry groaned and leaned against the wall. "Please, _please _don't remind me," he begged. Hermione just laughed.

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Potions Thursday afternoon was oddly calm. Snape did not insult him or ever talk to him. In fact, he acted very much as if Harry was not there at all.

Harry didn't mind at all. He did the same thing, in fact. While Snape lectured, he kept his eyes on his paper, and as Snape walked about the room, eyeing their attempts at whatever potion it was that they were brewing, Harry kept his eyes on his potion. As far as he was concerned, Potions had no-one teaching it.

He bottled his potion without a word and turned it in with the others, setting it on Snape's desk without looking up. Not until he was out in the hallway did he speak. "That was…tense…" Ron said, shaking his head. Harry shrugged.

"It went all right to me," he said. "I think I might have actually gotten the potion done correctly."

"Well, that's all right then," Hermione said, though she sounded like she didn't mean it. "Though…I think maybe you should talk to him, Harry. It's not good for it to go on—"

"Hermione, drop it," Harry said, trying not to get upset. "I don't want to talk about it, I don't want to think about it."

"But—"

"DROP IT!" he shouted, surprising even himself. Hermione looked frightened a moment, then sighed.

"All right," she gave in. "All right."

Harry realized he was breathing hard and took a few moments to slow it back down. "I'm sorry I yelled," he said.

"I shouldn't have pushed it," Hermione apologized. Harry shrugged. She was right. She shouldn't have brought it up. It was his business. He was sixteen, and he could take care of it himself. He would take care of it himself.

"Let's get to dinner, all right?" Ron suggested. Harry agreed, as did Hermione.

But he caught her concerned glance just before he started after Ron.

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A/N: This chapter would have been longer, but I decided to cut it here and put the next thing into the next chapter. It just didn't fit well here, and anyway, it was a lotta pages so I decided it could be its own chapter. On the up side, I'm posting earlier than I planned for this chapter, and probably the next chapter as well, so you can't complain.

Hope there's no terrible, glaring mistakes, but it's late.

Thanks for reading!


	24. Halloween

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to JK Rowling's books.

A/N: Ok, I changed my mind. Writing Quidditch matches are much, much, much more difficult than classroom scenes. It's hard for me to get the action down right, and make it descriptive enough without moving too slowly. I mean, they're whizzing around on brooms at very, very high speeds. You only have so much time to look around and take in the scenery before you hit the ground. J Thanks for reading, by the way.

00000000000 Chapter 24: Halloween 000000000000

"She's staring again," Harry hissed to Hermione. His friend looked up, looked over at the Hufflepuff table, and then smirked at him, rolling her eyes.

"_Harry,_" she said. "Stop obsessing about it!"

Harry turned to Ron, realizing that Hermione wasn't going to understand. "She's staring at me again, Ron. Come on, don't you think that's a bit odd?"

Ron grinned at him, and Harry sighed. Ron wasn't going to sympathize either, it seemed. "I think someone's got a crush on you, Harry," Ron told him. Harry glanced up, saw that the girl was _still _staring, and looked away quickly, blushing. He could have sworn he heard her and her friends giggle, but he wasn't going to look up and check.

"Harry," Hermione said suddenly, voice grave. Harry looked up sharply, but Hermione was just staring at him.

"Er…" he said, as she leaned forward across the table and grabbed his hands. "What…?"

"Harry, I know no-one's ever had this talk with you," Hermione said softly, and Harry realized that the corners of Hermione's lips were twitching, as if she was trying hard not to smile.

"Hermione…" he groaned, but she kept staring into his eyes, trying not to smile.

"Harry, when girls get older, they start to realize that the boys they've been going to school with have also grown up," she told him. "And then we girls start to realize that boys aren't _quite _as gross we thought. Pretty close…but not that bad."

"Hey," Ron growled. Hermione gave him a sweet little smile, and Harry tried again to tug his hands away.

"Very funny, Hermione," he groused.

"Now, now," she said. "What I'm trying to say is that girls might actually think you're cute," she told him, then rolled her eyes. "Who knows why, though?" she asked sarcastically to the ceiling. "Famous, messy black hair, pretty green eyes…"

"They're _deep, _or _vivid _or _anything,_" Ron corrected. "Not that I'm looking…ugh…" Ron shook his head. "Great Merlin, calling a bloke's eyes pretty…"

"Harry, you're just going to have to face it," Hermione told him. "Girls might actually want to date you, even. Like Cho did."

Harry pulled his hands away. "You're mean, Hermione," he told her, feeling stupid. "It used to be that everyone just stared at me with either shocked or fearful expressions," he told her. "Now there's just a lot of giggling all the time…"

"Well, I think the boys are all busy staring at the girls that are staring at you," Hermione diagnosed, looking around expertly. "Or glaring at you when they think no one will see them."

"I wish they'd all leave me alone," Harry grumbled. He heard giggles again from the Hufflepuff table, and looked up in time to see a certain Julie Thomas give him a little sympathetic-looking smile and a half-shrug. He smiled weakly at her and looked back down.

"Harry, if we could suddenly make you un-famous, we would," Ron assured him. "I know you don't like it, and it really is a pain in the arse, but honestly you have to live with it. No matter how long Hermione and I hang out with you, _you're _the one that's going to be famous."

"Thanks for reminding me," Harry grumbled. "Come on," he said. "Don't we have class or something?"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Hermione announced. "Professor Murkwater's 'big surprise' is today, so let's get moving."

Harry stood up as Ron stood up, his mind on their coming class. Last week…the same week that Snape had opened his stupid, thoughtless mouth…Murkwater had announced that the next week they'd have a surprise in class. A sort of before-Halloween surprise, Murkwater had called it. Something interesting, Harry hoped. He could do with a distraction, he decided.

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"Everyone stand at the back of the classroom, please," Murkwater said as soon as they came in the door. "I would ask that you have your wands ready and keep on your toes."

Harry glanced at his friends, and he knew they were all wondering the same thing. _What was Murkwater planning?_

"I bet he's got some sort of monster," Seamus spoke up, nodding knowledgeable. "Something we can practice on, like a troll."

Ron rolled his eyes, and Harry laughed. They'd already faced a troll before, when they were just eleven years old. "We're going to find out in less than a few minutes," Ron said aloud. "We might as well just wait and see."

Harry silently agreed, and pushed his bag against the wall and stood in front of it, wand up and ready to stun whatever might come barreling out of Murkwater's office.

They didn't have to wait long at all. Murkwater's office door rattled, shutting everyone up in an instant, and then it banged open, slamming against the wall and bouncing back roughly.

It was unable to close again, though, because of the large, scaly foot that had come between the door and the jamb. Several girls squealed as they caught sight of the clawed appendage, and Harry's hand tightened on his wand, wondering just what was going to follow that foot.

There was a rattling sound, as if from a heavy chain, and then suddenly Pavarti screamed loudly, as did several other girls.

"N-neat," Seamus said, only stuttering a little. Harry looked over as Dean elbowed Seamus in the side.

"You'd be more convincing if you didn't stutter," Dean muttered, then jumped. Harry looked back, and stared speechlessly at the long serpentine head that slipped through the door and looked around with narrowed, brilliant purple eyes. Long fangs hung from the wide jaw, and Harry was reminded very strongly of the basilisk that he had fought as a twelve year old.

He almost forgot about the huge monster in front of him as he wondered for a moment just _what _had made him think that he could take on a basilisk as a little kid (not that he'd had much of a choice at the time), but then his attention snapped back as the huge serpent came farther into the room.

Two clawed feet pulled the monstrous _thing _through the doorway, and Harry noted quickly that it seemed to only have one pair of legs, with rather pathetic looking wings just behind its shoulders. The long, sinuous body followed behind it like a snake, and Harry found himself wondering just _what _this thing was.

"T-that's not normal," Hermione said softly. Harry glanced over, still keeping his wand on the thing as it came down the short flight of stairs from the office door and slithered towards them. Murkwater was nowhere to be seen.

"Why not?" Harry asked, keeping his eyes on the…thing…once more.

"It-it looks like a cross between a basilisk and a dragon," she told him, seemingly much calmer than most of the rest of the class. Ron didn't look too worried either, Harry realized, and wondered it was just because the three of them had seen so many dangerous situations. "There isn't any such thing!"

"I guess there is now," Ron muttered. "What do you reckon we do?" he asked. Harry realized that Ron was asking him, not Hermione.

"Er…" he said. "Uh, well," he said. He turned to look at the thing. _"It sure is a strange looking thing…"_

Its head turned sharply. _"I am not strange looking!"_ the thing said. Harry started, then realized that he must have somehow said his last comment in Parsletongue. And it had understood.

_"Er…sorry,"_ he told it. _"I—I just meant that I've never seen a creature like you before."_

The thing stopped in its tracks, ten yards away, and Harry glanced around to see that everyone's eyes were now on him instead of the monster. "Give it a break!" he snapped at them. "It's not attacking, is it?"

He turned back to the creature as it spoke again_. "My name is Scemt, little human,"_ the monster said_. "I am a Drasilisk."_

Scemt narrowed its eyes as it looked around, then looked back at Harry. _"We're afraid you're going to attack us,"_ Harry explained.

Scemt hissed strangely, and a moment later Harry realized that the Drasilisk was laughing_. "Attack? Never, little human. None of you would make even half of a good mouthful."_

Harry wasn't that calmed by those words. He wondered for a moment what this big snake would say if Dudley happened to be in the room… Probably that he'd choke on the grossly overweight teen_. "Do you know why Professor Murkwater let you in here?"_ he asked.

The Drasilisk arched its neck regally. _"I am supposed to show you that spells only work on those that are not immune to them."_

_"Spells can't hurt you?"_ Harry asked, surprised.

_"Well…a few can,"_ Scemt admitted. _"Of course, Murk did not mention that there was a little snake-speaker in his class."_

_"It's not a very common talent among humans,"_ Harry informed Scemt. _"I only know one other who can speak Parsletongue."_

"Harry…"

_"Hmmm….I'm not sure what I should do now,"_ Scemt mused, looking around.

"Harry!"

Harry turned this time, startled, to see most of the class still gaping at him and Ron the only one still watching the Drasilisk. Hermione waiting until he was looking at her fully, and then spoke again. "Harry, what's going on?" she asked. "You know we can't understand you!"

"Er…it says that it was supposed to teach us that some creatures are immune to spells," he explained. "His name's Scemt."

"Very good, Mr. Potter," Murkwater's voice suddenly cut in. The class looked up, and saw that Murkwater was standing in the doorway of his office, smiling and holding his wand. "I must admit that it had slipped my mind that there was someone who could speak snake in this school."

"Scemt wanted to know what he's supposed to do now, sir," Harry told his professor. The man smiled and came down the steps, striding up to Scemt calmly and patting its nose. Most of the class gaped at how the creature hissed gently as the man rubbed its nose, but Harry laughed, able to hear what Scemt was muttering.

_"Little to the left…right…up, up, ooooooh right there….keep scratching, silly human…" _

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Murkwater seemed to think that it was highly amusing that Harry could chat with the Drasilisk, and spent most of the rest of the class making him translate the class's questions to the serpent. Most of the questions Scemt was quite willing to answer, and by the end of the class he was ready to go.

"Professor Hagrid is going to be returning the…er, Scemt…to his home after class tomorrow, so we won't have a chance to practice our spellwork with him. Instead, we'll hold a small dueling tournament on Thursday in order to practice," Murkwater said above the ringing of the bells announcing the end of class. "I expect all of you to study and review the spells that we have covered…Mr. Potter, if you could stay behind a moment?"

Harry stopped in the act of slinging his bag over his shoulder and turned back to the professor. Hermione and Ron stopped as well, and Murkwater smiled lightly. "I suppose I can't ask to speak to you alone?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"I guess not, sir," he agreed. Hermione and Ron nodded. Harry knew that his friends weren't going to leave him without having a very, very good reason.

"Well, really…I just wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to come by tomorrow when Hagrid comes to collect…Scemt. It would be much simpler if we could explain what we were doing to him," Murkwater said. Harry got the feeling that the professor hadn't planned on saying that, but he didn't question it.

"Er…sure," Harry agreed. "What time?"

"After classes, at four," Murkwater said. "We'll meet here perhaps?"

"Sure, sir," Harry agreed. He saw Ron shift uncomfortably. "Ron and Hermione will be coming as well, if that's all right."

"Of course, of course," Murkwater said. "I must commend you on such…loyal…friends."

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"Well, that was odd," Ron said, as soon as they were out of earshot. Harry shrugged.

"He wanted to say something else," he said. "I'm really starting to wonder just why he's here."

"I have an idea…" Hermione said slowly. Harry looked over.

"Oh?"

"He wants to talk to you alone," she said. "So what if you went alone tomorrow?"

"No way!" Ron immediately objected. Harry rolled his eyes at Ron's protectiveness, and Hermione smacked Ron on the arm.

"Of course not!" she said. "We'll borrow your invisibility cloak, Harry, and follow you," she explained. "He won't know we're there, and then maybe he'll say what he wants to say."

"What if he has ways to detect you?" Harry asked. "He is a Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He's supposed to be paranoid and intelligent and all that."

"Well, he probably won't notice, since he won't be suspecting anything, but if he does somehow manage to block us from getting in the room behind you we'll go get Dumbledore," Hermione decided. Harry sighed.

"I hope this is all worth it," he said.

"You want another Quirrell after you?" she asked him sharply. "I for one don't want to take chances."

"All right, all right," Harry said, more to calm down Hermione than anything else.

"We need to get to Potions anyway," Hermione muttered. Harry didn't realize it, but his face had once again fallen into the set expression that he always adopted the moment Potions was mentioned.

"Yeah." Ron's voice held only dread, and Harry nodded. The three were silent the rest of the way down to the dungeons.

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"Hello, Professor," Harry said, stepping into the office. Murkwater looked up from where he was seated at his desk and smiled quickly.

"Mr. Potter," he said. "What happened to your friends?" he asked.

"Hermione has an Arithmancy project due tomorrow morning, and Ron's at Quidditch Practice," he explained. "They're going to meet me as soon as we're finished moving Scemt, sir."

Murkwater nodded, looking like he was thinking quickly. "All right," he said, almost to himself, then looked up again and smiled. "Well, Hagrid should be on his way, and Scemt is waiting for us in my storage room. If you'd follow me?"

Harry nodded and followed after the professor, hoping that Hermione and Ron were somewhere behind him. It wasn't that he didn't have faith in his own abilities to defend himself, but he would have liked to have been certain that he had back up, just in case. Murkwater had done nothing to make himself look suspicious, but Harry wasn't going to take any chances.

"How did the other classes like Scemt, sir?" Harry asked as they went down a short flight of stairs.

Murkwater chuckled, the deep note reverberating off the stones around them. "It seems a certain Mr. Malfoy does not like snakes, despite his house."

Harry smiled, but didn't laugh. "I know a few Gryffindors that fear things like Griffins, so I suppose that that isn't all that odd, sir," Harry mentioned. He didn't want to give Murkwater any information, if possible, even if it was just about his rivalry with Malfoy.

"True, true," Murkwater agreed, then suddenly stopped before the door at the bottom of the stairs. "Mr. Potter, there was a reason yesterday I asked you to stay behind, and really did not want to speak about it with your friends present."

"Sir?" Harry asked, trying to keep his pounding heart under control. Was Murkwater going to attack him or offer him some sort of warning?

"I've noticed over the weeks that your passive spellwork has not been improving as much as it really should," Murkwater said. "You're very good at blocking most minor curses and stunners, but anything more complicated and you seem to freeze up."

"Er…" Harry hadn't been prepared for that line of questioning. "I…well, I just haven't had much time to work on it outside of class," he explained, hoping that was excuse enough. In reality, he'd been holding himself back as much as he could, wanting to work on it alone or with his friends instead. He didn't need Murkwater reporting to Voldemort that he could block certain spells without using any incantations.

If Murkwater _was _reporting to Voldemort, Harry reminded himself sternly.

"I'd like to arrange a time to work with you alone," Murkwater said. "You're going to need any edge you can get when it comes time to face Voldemort."

"Of course," Harry agreed. "I…well, I don't have much time right now," he hedged. "What with Quidditch, and all of my classes…"

"Surely the wizarding world is more important than some game?" Murkwater asked, looking both surprised and insulted. Harry felt petty and stupid, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to take lessons from Murkwater alone.

"Well, I'm thinking of starting up DA again, too," he said, fishing from excuses. Murkwater studied him for a bit.

"I see," the professor said slowly. "Well…if you change your mind, the offer still stands," the wizard finally said, then turned and pushed open the door.

Harry was quite relieved to see that only Scemt resided on the other side.

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Later that evening, he, Hermione, and Ron went over all that Murkwater had said. Ron and Hermione had heard it all, and they sat for many hours before the fire in the Gryffindor common room trying to decide just what Murkwater had planned. Dumbledore seemed to trust the man, Harry knew, but Dumbledore had been fooled before.

Ginny appeared, and for the first time in weeks Harry realized that he hadn't really spoken to her in a while. "Hello," he said. Ginny looked over and smiled.

"Hey," she said, coming over. "It's been a while since I've talked to all three of you at once."

"Been busy," Harry said. "How are your classes going?"

Ginny grimaced. "OWLs are going to kill me, I've decided," she reported. "In between those and Quidditch and being a prefect, I'm busy all of the time."

"Quidditch match in a few weeks," Ron grumbled quietly. "Don't let homework get in the way of that."

Ginny looked appalled. "Ron! Grades are way more important than Quidditch!"

"No they—" Ron stopped as Hermione glared at him. "Just don't let it make you miss practices."

Ginny rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to, Ronald," she said. "And for your information, _I _was just with Dean, walking in the courtyard."

Ron gaped, and Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing as Ginny flounced off without another word.

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October 31st came quietly, with Harry unwillingly dragging himself from bed that morning and rubbing his eyes tiredly. He vaguely remembered his dream…something about giant snakes chatting about their classes…and wasn't sure if the Fortress had been in his dreams at all.

Ron was already up, something that Harry was sure was a side-effect of dating Hermione. He filed that thought away absently, planning to use it as ammunition for teasing his friends later, and then slowly got ready for classes. The end of the week was always the worst for him…and today the worst of all.

He couldn't seem to stop thinking about how his parents had died this day, fifteen years previously. And while many of the students spent the day talking about how, fifteen years previously, _You-Know-Who_ had been defeated, all Harry could think about was his mother's echoing screams.

Every time he heard someone whisper that _there _he was, _Harry Potter, _the boy that had defeated Voldemort when he was just a little over a year old. And all he wanted to do was tell them all that it had been his mother, not him.

"Last class of the day," Hermione reminded him, as they sat at lunch. His friends, of course, were never cheery for Halloween, and he felt an immeasurable gratitude for that little bit of understanding. "Just live through it, and then the day's over."

"Yeah," Harry agreed heavily. "And the oh-so-generous Captain Ron even gave everyone the day off from Quidditch practice."

Ron shrugged. "We've been practicing hard."

"Every day of the week," Harry said. "I've probably practice more this year than all previous years combined."

"Hufflepuff's got a good seeker this year, I've heard," Ron said. Harry shrugged. "Ravenclaw and Slytherin's match is this weekend."

"And believe me, we'll be there," Ron said, looking determined. "I'm going to pick apart their strategies so much, we'll know what they're going to do before they've even figured it out."

"Sure, Ron," Hermione said, sighing. "Come on, we've got to get going."

Ron stuck his tongue out at Hermione, and Harry had to work hard to swallow his laughter and follow after his friends.

Halfway to the front door, headed out on their way to Care of Magical Creatures, Harry's bag suddenly jerked, and he could only watch in dismay as several jars of ink crashed out of the rip in his bag, followed by his books. "Bloody hell," he growled, stopping and turning back. Hermione and Ron turned back.

"Oh," Hermione groaned.

"Evanesco," Harry snapped at the ink all over his books. Some of it disappeared, but the rest stubbornly remained. "Go on," he said. "You'll be late if you wait for me, and you can tell Hagrid why I'm late," he told his friends. "I'll be fine."

Hermione bit her lip, looking torn. Harry could just imagine her trying to decide if getting to class on time was more important than waiting around. "Are you sure?"

"Come on," Harry said. "I'm in the entrance hall, there's plenty of people around," he said. He turned back to his bag, examining the ragged rip in the bottom.

"We'll see you in class, then," Hermione said, and Harry nodded, not looking up as he tried to figure out how to put his bag back together properly. He figured he should have gotten a new bag sometime—this was one that Remus had given him with his new stuff. It had belonged to Remus when he had gone to school, and Harry hadn't really noticed but it was pretty worn out, like most of the things that Remus owned.

"Reparo," he said, hoping it would work. Happily, the bag knit back together rather quickly, and he turned back to his stained books. "Evanesco," he tried again, putting a little more force behind it. The rest of the ink faded away from his books…along with several sheets of heavily-soaked parchment. Luckily, all of his textbooks remained intact.

He slowly put all of his books back into his bag, reveling for a bit in the silence of being alone in the hall. Which, of course, made him notice that everyone had long since gone to their classes. He stood with a sigh, knowing that his friends would worry, and shouldered his back once more.

"Potter!"

The sudden shout startled him, and he whipped around just before Malfoy's fist met his nose.

There was a crack sound and to his surprise, he found himself sitting on his butt on the ground, a hand over his now-broken nose. "Ow!" he said stupidly. "What the hell—!"

"What did you do, Potter?!" Malfoy shouted, and Harry had to dodge as Malfoy tried to tackle him. He got to his feet quickly, confused and not wanting to get into a fight now that school had started.

Just because Umbridge's decrees had been rescinded didn't mean that he couldn't be banned from Quidditch again.

And he was definitely more afraid of a Quidditch-crazed Ron than Draco Malfoy.

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he shouted. He dodged again as Malfoy took a swing at him again, but wasn't able to dodge the left hook that dug deep into his neck. He hacked, half-choked, and tried to get past Malfoy. "What's your problem, Malfoy?" he demanded.

A fist caught him in the stomach, right under his ribs, and he reacted. He swung a fist before he could even think about it, and Malfoy reeled back, a hand over his left eye. "Potter, you tell me where she is right now, or I'll—" Malfoy snarled, taking his hand off his eye.

"I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, YOU GIT!!" he bellowed, fed up. Malfoy seemed slightly taken aback, but not for long.

"I'm going to kill you, Potter," he snarled.

"That's enough!" a sudden voice cut in. "Mr. Malfoy, we _told _you quite clearly to wait for us in the Headmaster's office! We did not give you permission to seek out other students and start fights!"

Harry watched McGonagall come down the stairs behind them, eyes full of anger. "Mr. Potter! Why are you not in class?"

"My bag ripped, and I stopped to fix it," he explained, holding up the worn bag. He felt warm blood dripping down his chin, and suddenly his nose burned again, the pain even worse than when Malfoy had initially broken it. He tried pinching it with his fingers, but it hurt to even touch it, so he settled for trying to cup the blood in his hand and keep it off of his robes.

McGongall seemed to think over that response for a moment, and she calmed down imperceptibly. "Mr. Potter, you're bleeding all over the place," she said flatly. Harry frowned.

"I know, ma'am," he said, trying not to sound angry at her. "What's going on?" he demanded.

"That, Mr. Potter, is none of your business," she told him sternly. "Madame Pomfrey will attend to your injuries, and I'm sure Hagrid will understand why you missed class."

"But—" he tried to object.

"As for you, Mr. Malfoy, ten points from Slytherin for disobeying instructions, and another five for fighting! Mr. Potter was not and will not be involved in this situation!"

Malfoy glared daggers at Harry, who glared back just as angrily. "I know he had something to do with it," the teen snapped.

"I don't even know what you're talking about!" Harry hissed.

"That's enough!" McGonagall said again, enraged. "Mr. Malfoy! Please return to the Headmaster's office, right now. And Mr. Potter, to the infirmary!"

Harry gave Malfoy one last glare and brushed past his rival, storming up the stairs and towards the infirmary. Underneath his anger, he wondered just what Malfoy had been so angry about.

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"It figures," Ron said, his first words as he and Hermione came into the infirmary. Harry looked up, earning himself a swat from Madame Pomfrey.

"Don't move, Mr. Potter!" she scolded. "I need to set your nose before I heal it, or it will end up very crooked!"

Like Snape's, Harry thought for a moment, then stopped, his stomach feeling cold even at the name. "What figures?" he asked his friends instead.

"That when you don't show up to class it means you're in the infirmary," Hermione explained. "It's the first place we've looked."

"What happened, mate?" Ron asked. Hermione and Ron were now looking him over, staying just out of arm's reach of Pomfrey as she manipulate his now.

"Ow, ow," he grumbled, as she pushed it around. She'd given him a pain-relieving potion, but he could still feel it quite sharply if she pushed it around too much. "Malfoy accused me of something," he said, when Pomfrey had finally satisfied herself. "I didn't want to get into a fight…"

"Damn right!" Ron exclaimed.

"Language, Mr. Weasley!" Pomfrey scolded, filling a small tumbler with something very purple and steaming.

Ron looked partly embarrassed, but didn't apologize. "You didn't get suspended from Quidditch, did you?" he demanded. Harry shook his head, and Pomfrey swatted him again.

"Don't move it!" she scolded. "Drink this," she directed. Harry hesitated, regretting that he couldn't pinch his nose shut, and downed the glass as quickly as he could. He grimaced at the awful taste and coughed once, clearing his throat.

"No, I didn't get banned," He said. "I didn't get anything," he said, "Except bruises from Malfoy because I _knew _you'd kill me if I somehow got banned from a game or practice."

Ron looked a little regretful. "I wouldn't get mad if you were defending yourself," he said. Harry sighed.

"Well, I did hit him in the eye…after the third time he hit me," Harry grumbled. "He's got bony knuckles."

"What was his problem?" Hermione asked. Harry shrugged.

"I don't really know," he admitted. "He kept saying that he knew I had something to do with 'it,' and he wanted to know where 'she' was. McGonagall showed up, took fifteen points from Slytherin, and told me to get up here. She yelled at Malfoy to get back up to Dumbledore's office, and that was it."

"Hm," Hermione said softly.

"Hm what?" Ron asked.

Harry waited for Hermione to say what she was thinking, meanwhile feeling his nose carefully. It felt straight once more, and it no longer hurt or felt swollen. "Well, you did mention before school started that Malfoy and his mother were here, for protection, right?" Hermione finally said. Harry blinked.

"D'you think his _mother_ has gone missing?" Harry asked. Hermione looked unsure.

"I don't want to assume, but that does sound likely, right?" she asked. "Who else would he worry about so much?"

"Maybe she ran to Voldemort," Harry suggested. He forgot Pomfrey was there until she gasped at the name.

"Oh, er, can I go?" he asked her. She nodded.

"Go on," she said. "Just don't bump your nose for the next hour, and it will be good as new," she instructed. Harry nodded and followed his friends as they rushed up to the Gryffindor common room in order to finish their conversation.

They didn't make it that far, though. McGonagall stopped them on the stairs. "Potter, you'd better come with me," she said.

"What's going on, ma'am?" he asked, not moving. "Is this about earlier?"

McGonagall sighed. "Yes, it is. Now please come with me, so we can sort this out."

Harry glanced at his friends, hoping they'd get that he'd tell them what had happened as soon as he got back. "All right," he agreed. McGonagall gestured for him to go ahead of her, and he started back down the steps, McGonagall just behind him.

"To the Headmaster's office," she told him. Harry nodded, having assumed that that was where they were headed.

"What's going on?" he asked again, as they stepped past the already-aside gargoyles. McGonagall gave him a tight-lipped stare.

"That's for the headmaster to tell you," she said. "Now come on," she urged. Harry started up the spiral staircase, mind on what had happened earlier.

Which was why he wasn't watching for the enraged teenager that suddenly tackled him to the ground. His head bounced off the floor sharply, and he blinked dizzily up at Malfoy's narrowed silver eyes and angry sneer. "What the hell, Malfoy!" he got out. He shoved hard at the teen, and was aided by a sudden spell from McGonagall. Harry got up slowly, still feeling a little dizzy, and watched warily as Malfoy got up from where he'd been knocked to the other side of the room. The teen was still fuming, and Harry could only assume that Dumbledore had been unsuccessful in convincing Malfoy that Harry had had nothing to do with whatever had happened.

"Mr. Malfoy, that was completely uncalled for," Dumbledore spoke up sternly. "Ten points from Slytherin. Mr. Potter, are you all right?"

Harry nodded, though the sudden motion sent pain lancing through his head. "I'm fine," he said shortly. "What's going on, sir? Why do you need me?"

"Please, sit down," Dumbledore asked. Harry did so, and Dumbledore spoke as soon as he had settled down. "Mrs. Malfoy has gone missing, Harry, and it seems Draco believes that you had something to do with it."

"I didn't," Harry said flatly, trying not to get angry again. "Ask my friends."

"Oh, sure," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Let's ask those two mindless twits…they'd lie for him in a minute!"

"I have nothing to hide," Harry snapped back. "I've been in class or at lunch so far today. That's it!"

"All right, Harry," Dumbledore said. "I believe you."

"What!" Malfoy exploded. "You believe _him_, but not me?" he demanded. Harry watched Dumbledore stare Malfoy down quite calmly.

"Mr. Malfoy, I have no reason to believe that Mr. Potter was in any way involved in your mother's disappearance," Dumbledore said. Malfoy looked ready to explode again.

"He's the reason my father's in prison!" Malfoy finally snarled.

"Your father, Mr. Malfoy, is a confirmed Death Eater," McGonagall spoke up. Malfoy flushed red.

"That's not true!" Malfoy protested. "He isn't a Death Eater!"

Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy was being awfully thick. "Look, I didn't have anything to do with anyone leaving this castle, and the only your dad's in prison is because he's got the Dark Mark on his arm!"

Malfoy looked ready to tackle him again, but Dumbledore seemed to be restraining him with a spell. "That will be all, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said. "I would ask that you do not spread this amongst your classmates, please."

Harry nodded. He would tell Hermione and Ron, of course, but it wouldn't get beyond them. "Is that all, then?" Harry asked, just to be sure. Dumbledore nodded and gave him a small smile.

"Yes," Dumbledore confirmed. "Go on. Try to enjoy the rest of your evening, please."

Harry nodded and got up. He swayed a moment, his bruised skull protesting the sudden movement, and left without a backwards glance.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

Harry wasn't sure if it was just one of those days, or if Halloween really held something against him. He was a flight of stairs and two turns of a hallway away from the Gryffindor Portrait when he saw movement and whirled sharply. "Who's there?" he demanded. As far as he knew, everyone was in the great hall now, for the Halloween party. Nobody else was supposed to be around.

No one answered his demand, though, and he started again up the stairs.

Only to once again see movement, and this time he was fairly certain that someone was somehow following him. He started down the hallway, pulling his wand out and holding it tightly.

He was as prepared as he could have been when the first spell was sent his way, but he did not have to consciously block it. It bounced off of the sudden shield around his body, and he whirled towards its source. It was too shadowy to see anyone for certain, but he sent a disarming spell in the direction anyway.

A red jet of light answered him, and he raised his wand again. "Stupefy!" he shouted.

The red blast shot down the hallway, lighting it up clearly but hitting nothing. "Eviscero!"

This time he heard the spell before it was sent his way, and his eyes widened as he realized that it was a very, very nasty curse. Not illegal, but very lethal in most cases. "Protego!" he shouted, also diving out of the way as best he could.

The yellow light shot past him, and he rolled to his feet. "Stupefy!" he tried again.

This time there was a dull thud, and he hurried forward. "Expelliarmus!" the voice shouted. Harry was caught by surprise and blasted backwards onto his still-bruised backside, wand torn from his grasp and sent clattering down the stairs and out of sight.

And then a black-robe figure with a white Death Eater mask stepped out of the shadowed hallway, wand pointed directly at Harry's head. Harry blinked, wondering what was going to happen. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What do you want?"

"I don't have time to talk to you," the Death Eater snarled.

"How did you get into Hogwarts?" Harry demanded. "How did you get past the wards?"

"I don't have time, I said! Stu—"

The Death Eater didn't get a chance to finish his spell. Harry lunged forward, tackling the man at the knees and sending him crashing hard on his back. Harry's head still swam from hitting the floor hard, but he swung at the man as best he could, landing a few solid blows before the man recovered himself and smashed a fist…thankfully…just into Harry's chin instead of his barely-healed nose.

Harry was knocked hard on his back by the much-stronger stranger, and he scrambled back towards the man as fast as he could. He latched onto the man's wand, trying to wrench it from his grasp, and gasped as a fist hit him hard in the temple. He could feel his fingers slipping, the wand slowly tipping to point at his head, and then suddenly a new person had joined the fight.

Harry couldn't have been more happy to see Ron, who fearlessly launched himself onto the struggling Death Eater. Ron was several inches taller and perhaps twenty to thirty pounds heavier than he was, and between the two of them they were able to pin the Death Eater down by sheer weight. Harry twisted the man's hand until he let go of his wand, and Harry pitched it over the railing without hesitation.

"Glad you showed up, Ron," Harry gasped. Ron gave him a quick grin while struggling to keep the man down.

"You're not having a very good day, Harry," he commented. Harry shook his head.

"Is someone getting a professor?" Harry asked. The Death Eater struggled afresh, but Ron just twisted the man's arm behind his back tightly and held him down harder.

"Hermione's getting someone," Ron told him. We came out of the common room because you hadn't come back yet, and there you are, trying to fight a big guy in black robes one-on-one."

"Didn't have much choice, did I?" Harry asked dryly. Ron chuckled. "No, I guess not."

"Mr. Potter!"

For the third time that day, Harry heard McGonagall's voice. He looked up, feeling a little woozy now, and smiled. "Professor McGonagall," he said. "Er…"

"Stupefy," she said, and Harry felt the man he was pinning down go limp. Ron stood and helped him up carefully. Harry felt his knees buckle slightly, and was grateful that Ron was holding him up. "What happened, Potter?" McGonagall asked.

"He attacked me in the hall," Harry reported. McGonagall came closer, and Harry watched as Hermione stepped around McGonagall and kneeled down to remove the man's mask.

"Dolohov," McGonagall said.

"Huh?" Harry said. This looked like a student, but Dolohov was a grown man.

"Dolohov's son," McGonagall explained. "He's a seventh year."

"Slytherin?" Ron half-asked, half-spat. McGonagall gave him a stern glare.

"Yes," she admitted. She waved her wand at the prone teen and his unconscious body lifted in the air. "Mr. Potter, do you need medical attention?" she asked.

"Er…I'd rather just make it to the common room," he admitted. "I've been trying to get there for the past hour almost."

McGonagall gave him a small smile. "Very well then," she said. "I'm sure the headmaster will send for you later to explain what happened."

"Sure," Harry agreed tiredly. His knees decided to go watery once more.

"Whoops," Ron said, catching him before he could fall and pulling him back up to his feet. "Come on, Harry. Let's get you to bed."

"All right," he agreed. McGonagall gave him a last scrutinizing glare and then turned, the body of the unconscious Death Eater trailing after her. "Ooh, I don't feel so great," he groaned, as Ron turned him around to head to the common room.

Hermione felt his forehead with a hand, and gently touched his chin. "You have a pretty nasty bruise, Harry," she said.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Goes with the ones Malfoy gave me," he grumbled.

"Again??" she asked.

Harry grimaced. "He tackled me when I got into Dumbledore's office. I've got to find some way to get back at him for that."

He tottered a little when Ron let him go slightly, and Ron chuckled as he caught him again. "Maybe I shouldn't let you walk on your own," he said. Hermione smiled gently.

"It's a good thing you're not too big, Harry," Hermione told him. "After the all the times people have had to carry you around."

"Hey," he protested weakly. The truth was he did end up getting carried a lot, whether he was conscious or not. "It's not _my _fault."

"Valor," Hermione said. The portrait swung open, and Ron helped him over the slight ledge and into the common room. "Will you be comfortable on the couch, Harry, or do you want to head up to bed?" she asked. Harry could tell she wanted to know if she'd been right about Malfoy, but was willing to wait until the next morning if he needed to sleep.

"We can stay down here a bit, but I don't want Ron to have to drag me up to the dorms if I fall asleep," he said. Ron laughed and let him down onto the couch, and then he and Hermione took seats facing him.

"Well, let's have it," Ron prompted.

"Hermione was right," Harry said. "Malfoy's mum has gone missing. He thinks I did something to her."

"We were with you all day!" Ron protested.

"That's what I said. Of course Malfoy didn't believe me, but Dumbledore does. That was pretty much it, and then I left," Harry explained.

"What about the Death Eater?" Hermione pressed. Harry sighed.

"I thought I saw someone following me, and then they attacked. I fought back…my wand," he groaned, remembering that he'd had it blasted out of his hand. Hermione smiled though.

"Here," she said, giving it to him. "McGonagall found it when we were headed up the stairs to you."

"Thanks," Harry said, taking back the wand gratefully. He checked it over quickly and pocketed it, glad to have it back. "Er…I'd better get to bed," he said. He could see on the clock that it was only just past seven in the evening, but his head was swimming and his mind was foggy. "I'll be fine," he said. "Go enjoy the party for awhile. I just want to sleep."

Hermione looked reluctant, but Harry was adamant. "You guys are dating, right?" he said. "Have a date," he ordered. Hermione blushed, and Ron pulled him up to his feet.

"All right, come on," he said. Harry followed without protest, having to lean on his friend much more than he would have hoped for. "Time for beddy-by, Harry."

"I can make it on my own," Harry protested, struggling even to get up the stairs. Ron laughed at him.

"Suuure, you're just fine," he said. Harry just stayed silent until Ron let him down onto his bed. "Sleep. We'll check on you when we get back from the party, all right?" Ron asked.

"'Mkay," he mumbled, already half-asleep.

"Oh—and thanks, Harry," Ron added. Harry nodded, as his eyes dropped closed.

"No prob…" he mumbled. He was asleep before Ron even left the dorm.

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It was raining. He huddled at the side of the fortress, pressed against the stones, and tried to stay out of the worst of it. He could see the huddle of black-robed figures on the hillside. In the middle of the ring was a solitary figure. He couldn't see who it was, but they were defying the death eaters.

He could tell that even from where he crouched, but who it was he could not be sure. The wind whipped away any words that could have been spoken, and Harry closed his eyes tightly, trying not to let the harsh cold get to him.

Lightening cracked, illuminating the world around him, and suddenly the death eaters were surrounding him, wands pointing at him. He tried to scream, surprised at the sudden appearance, but his words were drowned out by the rumble of thunder.

And the mud was sucking at his legs again, drawing him under, pulling him down, keeping him from escaping. He tried to get his wand out, but his hand felt sluggish and slow.

And when he did manage to reach into his pocket, his wand was not there. He was defenseless. Alone, cold, and without his wand.

The lightening blazed across the sky again.

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A/N: Whew! This chapter came out something over nineteen pages in Word, which is a great deal longer than most of the others I've written so far. I just couldn't find a good spot to split this in two, so you've gotten a real treat this week. Well, at least I hope it's a treat for you. On the other hand, it may mean the next chapter's up a bit late, because now I have nothing ready for next week. Give me time, and I'll work hard to get it done. I've also just gotten over a lump of writer's block that I've had for the past month or so, so I've been writing more often than before. Thanks for reading, and please tell me what you think!

**Responses to Reviewers:**

**Stahchild: **Thanks for the long and wonderful review. Yeah, Snape's really on Harry's bad list right now, and he's going to stay there for some time. I was going to have him help Harry out in this chapter, but I made it McGonagall instead. Snape's still a spy, so having him save Harry from a death eater could have been dangerous to Snape if word had gotten out somehow. And any, Harry hasn't been mad at Snape for quite long enough. There may eventually be a resolution between the two and some sort of truce, but right now it's still questionable. Harry's busy with lots of other things at the moment, too.

**Ash Knight: **I'm glad you liked the chapter, and I really appreciate your view on the story. I know Harry's been very forgiving of Dumbledore, but I tend to feel that Harry's words to Dumbledore at the end of OOTP were more out of anger and helplessness than anything else. I've said terrible things to my parents when I'm very upset, but when I've had a chance to be away from them and cool down I always feel bad for getting upset. I just figure that Harry's never had a reason to doubt Dumbledore's intentions in five years, and he wouldn't throw it all away just because Dumbledore make mistakes. Although lying to Harry like he did was pretty bad… Anyway, I really don't like many stories where Dumbledore is a manipulative jerk, so I didn't make him one in my story. He's just an old man trying to do the right thing with a student that's become almost a grandchild to him. Hopefully, the story's still believable to you and you'll keep leaving me your wonderful reviews.

**Looka:** I don't want to give Snape away yet, but it's not as deep as some might think. Snape's motives aren't entirely spite and hate, but he doesn't have some hidden agenda either. Er…I don't want to give it all away now, but it will eventually be addressed. Thanks for your input.

**Numba1: **I'm going to go ahead and assume that you're going to have some objections to this chapter, and I understand. Your last review was somewhat critical of some of Harry's reactions, and I don't pretend to be any sort of expert on this situation. Harry kind of gets tromped by Malfoy in the chapter, but don't worry…Harry _will _eventually get back at him. I'm trying to make Harry very accommodating for his friends, since he feels pretty bad about the whole Dept of Mysteries fiasco, but he does reach the end of his fuse every now and then. First and foremost, he's a very complicated sixteen year-old boy. Harry is at the point where Snape means less than nothing to him, I feel. I've tried to portray it that way, and it's why I purposely didn't include a potions class scene in this chapter. Snape's just kind of…faded out…in this chapter. He does end up coming back, though, because this issue isn't resolved. I'm glad that I can count on your detailed reviews for just about every chapter, and thanks for taking the time out to do so.

**Meggplant: **Glad you picked up on the silencing spell. Just a little suggestion of expanding powers that even Harry didn't notice either. Thanks for reading!

**Thanks also to:**

Sky Samuelle, Von, Corrinetkn23, Mirokus-doll, Cynthia1850, Loka, AD, Sponge Hearts, HPfreakout, Child-of-Darkness1988, forfirith, mrs-osborne's-class, Dianne, Calen, we3, maggieochp


	25. Malfoy’s Mum

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, nor anything affiliated with it.

**A/N:** This chapter was never a planned part of my story, but it needed to be done. So sorry if it is a little more awkward than my usual, but I had to figure it into the story as best I could. So this is what you get.

0000000000000 **Chapter** **25: Malfoy's Mum** 000000000000

Harry tried not to stare, but it was hard to keep his eyes off the Slytherin table. "Any minute now," he heard Ron murmur. Harry nodded slightly.

"He's reaching for it…" he said quietly, trying to talk out of the side of his mouth so no one would notice.

"Oh," Hermione said, disappointed, as their target's hand grabbed the pitcher of cream. "Next one, I bet."

"Hmm…he'll stir his porridge first and then he'll get the pumpkin juice," Harry said.

"There he goes," Ron said. "Stirring _and _grabbing the juice," he commented. "What a pig."

"You do the same thing, dear," Hermione teased.

"Hey," Ron said softly. "Oh—here we go!" Ron said, forgetting Hermione's teasing.

They held their breath, trying not to look too eagerly in the Slytherin's direction, and waited for the show to begin.

Malfoy suddenly sprang back from his table, flinging his half-empty cup of pumpkin juice away from himself with surprising force. "Ahh!" he yelped loudly. Harry thought he was going to have to bite his tongue in half to keep from laughing, but he held it in. He had to wait until everyone else started laughing.

And they didn't have to wait long. Suddenly, Malfoy's ears began to grow, swelling and growing until the ends flopped over and drooped on his shoulders. His wispy blond hair grew as well, tangling and matting into a yellow-white clump as it did. Harry was reminded strongly of some sort of hideous muggle doll that had been chewed on by a dog.

Everyone gaped in amazement, and then suddenly someone at the Hufflepuff table started to laugh—Harry looked over, and it was Julie Thomas, laughing so hard that there were tears streaming down her face.

That broke the spell, and the whole hall rang with laughter, even as Malfoy's front teeth suddenly grew longer, thanks to a special effort from Hermione, and then suddenly—Harry's contribution—Malfoy sprouted a furry white tail with a loud POP!

Harry glanced over at his friends.

"Nicely done, I think," he commented. Hermione nodded.

"I wasn't sure that those potions would hold the charms," she admitted. "I think the teeth are quite nice on him…"

"Hmm…I'm liking the tail, Harry," Ron said. "He kind of looks like some sort of overgrown ferret with elephant ears."

"Reminds me of his father," Harry mused, trying not to laugh.

Of course, they couldn't hold it in at all when Malfoy fled the hall, only to catch his tail in the door as it closed behind him.

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If Harry had expected any retaliation for their prank, he didn't get it. Ron, Hermione, and he went to the Saturday afternoon Quidditch match in high spirits, hoping to see Ravenclaw obliterate Slytherin.

The weather was cold and windy, typical for early November, and all three were wrapped up tightly in their cloaks, warming charms keeping them free of the biting cold. They charmed a few mugs of hot chocolate to stay warm, and then headed out to the pitch.

"See?" Hermione said once they'd sat down. "There's no one here yet, Ron. We could've come fifteen minutes from now, and we'd still get exactly the seats we want."

Ron shrugged. "I don't want to be trying to watch the game from way in the back," he explained. "I'd rather be sure instead."

Harry had to admit that they'd gotten there a little excessively early—there was still over half an hour until the match was set to begin—but he understood that Ron was fairly obsessed with winning the Quidditch Cup. Harry wasn't sure if it really mattered to him—he hadn't been part of the team for most of the previous year, and there had been no quidditch his fourth year. Still, he had to admit, it would be really great if he could help win the cup at least one more year.

"So are you really planning on starting up the DA again, Harry?" Hermione asked casually. Harry looked over.

"I said that mainly to give Murkwater an excuse, but I guess I could," he answered. "I actually have something I'd like to work on."

"Oh?" Hermione asked.

"Remus said he'd help me learn to be an animagus over the summer, but we never really had time. I'd like to work on it here. We could make it a group thing," he explained. Hermione tried not to look doubtful, but Harry could tell she was dubious.

"Even McGonagall can't teach everyone how to be an animagus," she pointed out. "It takes years of work, and even then some people can't become them."

"Well, we won't know until we try," Harry pointed out. "Sixth years are allowed to begin studying for it…so I guess we'll have to think of something else for the younger years, but I'm sure the other sixth year Gryffindors would be interested."

"I think it's a great idea," Ron said. "That could really come in handy, you know."

"That's what I was hoping…unless my animagus form is a rabbit or something," Harry said.

"The animal form is usually a partial reflection of your personality," Hermione said. "So I don't think you're going to be a little bird."

"You'll probably be an owl, then, Hermione," Ron teased.

Hermione just sighed. "We probably won't even know for a year what our forms would be," she warned. Harry nodded.

"I know," he said. "But we've got Moony on our side. I'm sure he's got some information we can use to speed the process up a bit."

"All right then," Hermione gave in. "Just tell me when you want to have the meeting, and I'll get the word out."

"Thanks, 'Mione," Harry said. Ron suddenly sat up straighter.

"Here they come…Ravenclaw…" he reported. Before Harry could even look, Ron had already put his omnoculars up to his eyes and was scanning the entering team.

Harry just watched silently while the team came out, zipping around the pitch. His attention was on the seeker—Cho, still. He knew how she flew already, so he didn't really need to watch her. He knew Malfoy's strategies very well now, too, so he didn't see any reason to really scrutinize the match.

"Malfoy's gone," Ron suddenly said, sounding surprised. Harry looked over at the Slytherin team coming out onto the pitch.

Sure enough, when Colin Creevey announced the two teams, Malfoy was not the seeker of Slytherin. Instead, Richard Flint, Marcus Flint's younger brother, was the Slytherin seeker. Hermione looked slightly interested. "Hmm," she said. "I wonder…the charms would have been broken simply by Madame Pomfrey."

"Maybe he's too embarrassed to come out," Harry said. Hermione shrugged, looking thoughtful.

"Mind if I sit here?" came a sudden misty voice. Ron jumped visibly, and Harry swallowed a laugh as Luna Lovegood gave Ron a sappy smile and then plopped down between him and Harry.

"Not that we don't want you here, but why aren't you sitting with Ravenclaw?" Hermione asked. Luna smiled, luminous blue eyes on her team.

"Someone in my dorm stole my favorite sweater this morning," she told them. "So I thought I would sit with Gryffindor instead."

"That's not very nice of them," Harry said. Luna shrugged, as the teams lined up for the start.

"I'll get it back. I always get my things back in the end," she assured them. Harry nodded, eyes on Luna a moment longer before he turned back to the match as it began.

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Luna wandered off at the end of the match, giving them all one last somewhat vacant smile before heading off towards some other sixth year Ravenclaws. Hermione watched her go, shaking her head slightly. "She's a sweet girl, I suppose, but I have to wonder how in Merlin's name she got into Ravenclaw."

Harry shrugged. "I don't think you can judge her on how she seems," he said. "I don't think she's as crazy as some people think."

"I don't think she's crazy," Hermione said defensively. "Just a little…vacant, sometimes."

Ron had been silent up until this moment, and Harry looked over to see Ron concentrating deeply. "What is it?" he asked. Ron started and glanced over.

"Slytherin won by….thirty points, and their score was 230," Ron said aloud. "That means they've got a lot of points on the board. We've got to beat Hufflepuff in our match by at least sixty points."

"Er…why?" Harry asked. As long as they won, they shouldn't have any problems. Ron glanced over.

"Just in case, Harry," Ron said. "And besides, we need to get a big lead in points now before we get down to our last match."

The Slytherin match, Harry thought but didn't say. Richard Flint had beaten Cho to the snitch, and Harry knew that Cho wasn't that bad of a seeker. Certainly not professional-caliber, but she wasn't bad.

"It's going to be fine, Ron," Harry assured his friend. "I'm not going to get banned anytime during this week, I promise."

"Don't say that!" Ron said. "You're going to jinx it!"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, I'm hungry," he said, changing the subject. He saw Hermione roll her eyes at their 'argument,' before following them back to the great hall.

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_"Stupid human, blocking my path."_

Harry started, surprised. "Did you hear that?" he asked. Ron and Hermione turned back and eyed him.

"Hear what?" Ron asked slowly. Harry didn't say anything for a moment. This had a very deja-vu feeling to it.

"I think it was a snake," he said.

_"This is ridiculous. Blocking me from my home. Why won't it move?"_

"There's a snake in the walls," he said. "It has to be."

Ron looked pale. "A Basilisk?" he asked. Harry shook his head.

"It sounds small, like a little garden snake or whatever," he said. "It says something's blocking it from its home. A human."

"Maybe we should tell Dumbledore," Hermione said. They were on their way back to Gryffindor from the great hall, and had not started up the stairs yet.

_"That stupid human, putting this in my way."_

"It's still there, trying to get by whatever—whoever—is blocking it," Harry said. "Let's find out where it's headed."

"Er…maybe we _should _get Dumbledore," Ron said slowly. Harry shook his head, getting closer to the stones and listening to the sounds of the snake as it moved along.

"Come on," he said. "I don't want to lose it."

Hermione and Ron hesitated at first, but then they followed after him as he started up the stairs at the end of the hall, still listening.

_"Have to find a new way around…this is ridiculous…"_

It's still in there," Harry said. "Maybe it's in a room on the other side of the wall," he said. "I don't know…"

Harry quieted, listening to the snake and trying to pinpoint its location. He turned left at the top of the stairs, keeping close to the wall, and then stopped in front of a very dusty and worn door.

"It's a supply closet," Hermione said. "Looks like it hasn't been used in a while."

_"How did I end up in this disgusting hole anyway?"_

"It's in here," Harry reported. "Alohamora!" he said, pointing his wand at the door.

It gave a wooden groan, then popped open, swinging wide with creaking hinges. Harry coughed on the dust that was shaken loose, and Hermione waved it away with her wand. "Lumos," Harry said, moving forward to light up the closet.

He could only see old mops and pails on the floor of the closet, but he went inside anyway, feeling the stone walls carefully.

_"Humans are near…I'd better find another home…"_

"There's gotta be some sort of door," Harry said aloud. "The snake knows we're here."

"As long as there aren't any spiders," Ron grumbled from behind him.

Harry moved his wand closer to the wall just to his left, examining the stones as best he could. "I think it's here," he said, pushing his wand tip against a stone that looked a little odd.

He was right, and the stone ground loudly as it shifted, and suddenly the whole wall swung inwards, revealing a dark and damp cavern. "This is odd," Hermione said softly, looking over his shoulder. Harry nodded.

"Come on," he said. "We'll head back in a bit if it looks long."

"Lumos," Hermione said in response, and Ron followed suit.

The entire secret chamber lit up, though Harry wished it hadn't. Ron, next to him, went pale as well. The red head almost immediately turned to block Hermione from seeing, wrapping a hand around her shoulders and steering her back towards the entrance of the drab little chamber. "Er…we'll get Dumbldore," Ron said hastily, glancing at Harry. Harry nodded, frowning grimly.

"Go," he said. "Get him now. You don't want to see this Hermione, please."

Hermione glanced at him curiously, unable to see past Ron's shoulder, and then nodded. "Come on, Ron," she said, sounding only a little reluctant. "Let's go find Dumbledore."

Ron looked hesitant to leave Harry alone, but finally followed Hermione out of the shadowy room. After they had left, Harry turned back to what he and Ron had seen, steeling himself.

His wand had illuminated the room quite clearly, and almost immediately he had seen the figure that looked almost thrown into one corner. It was a woman, thin with blond hair, and for an irrational moment he thought that it was his aunt, somehow locked in this room.

But the woman wore robes, no matter how stained and ragged they now were, so Harry knew that it was a witch. And they looked very dead.

Unable to stand there without being sure of the woman's state, he forced himself forward, battling back images of another dead body. He reached out a trembling hand to the woman's shoulder, touching her lightly. It was almost as if he expected her to start up in surprise at his touch.

But the person didn't react to his touch, and this close he could see more clearly that it was a middle-aged woman, face and lips very pale with death.

He pulled her over onto her back very gently.

And stared up into the slack, blue face of Narcissa Malfoy.

He stared in horror at the face of his enemy's mother, then stumbled backwards, bile rising in his throat.

"Oh Merlin," he muttered, feeling sick. He staggered back and tripped, falling on his knees. He forced himself to regain control, pushing the nausea back down and getting back to his feet. "Merlin," he said again.

No matter how many deaths he saw, no matter how many bodies, he would never get used to it. Harry knew that in an instant. He couldn't help it. Each death…even if he had no connection to the person…

"Harry!" he heard. The shout broke him from his thoughts.

"Ron?" he yelled back. "Just have Dumbledore come in first," he said. "Just…just stay out there with Hermione, please," he asked.

A moment later his wish was granted, and Dumbledore came into the chamber, lit wand raised high. The shadows dug deep trenches in the old wizard's face as he gazed down at the dead woman. "It is as we had feared," the Headmaster said softly. Harry looked over.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Dumbledore sighed.

"Mrs. Malfoy's disappearance was not long before your attack, was it not?" Dumbledore said. "The worry was that Dolohov's son managed to kill Mr. Malfoy's mother before looking for you."

"Couldn't you track her down?" he asked.

"The dead are difficult to track," Dumbledore said softly. "The soul has departed, and only the hollow shell remains… And of course, there seem to be several anti-tracking charms on her body."

"I—We didn't let Hermione see," he said. "Could you make she doesn't?"

"Of course," Dumbledore said. He waved his wand, and Mrs. Malfoy's body was covered with a plain white sheet. A few wand-flicks later, and she was levitating in the air beside the Headmaster, ready to be moved from the chamber.

Dumbledore began to direct the body, and Harry watched silently as Dumbledore paused in passing. "I'm sorry that you had to see this, Harry," Dumbledore said.

"What—what are you going to tell Malfoy?" he asked. "He didn't have anything to do with this…did he?"

"No…no, I don't think so. His fear for his mother's safety was not false." Dumbledore said, then fixed him with a firm stare. "Mr. Malfoy has already been banned from Quidditch for the rest of the year because he attacked you. I would advise against mentioning this to him or your involvement in finding his mother."

"Yeah, sure," Harry agreed. "Er…is that it, then?"

"I would offer you a dreamless sleep potion, Harry, but it would react with the potion that Severus currently supplies to you," Dumbledore said kindly. Harry nodded.

"I know," he said. "I'll be all right. I was just…surprised, is all."

"It is a great sorrow to me that you have seen so much death so soon in your life," Dumbledore said softly. Harry gazed on the human-shaped white lump, floating just above the cold stone floor.

"I think it's mine as well," he admitted.

Dumbledore didn't say another word. He just walked past, Mrs. Malfoy's body ahead of him. Harry waited until he could no longer hear Dumbledore's steps, and then sighed. He was fairly certain he was going to have to at least talk to Ron about this. His friend had looked fairly shook up at seeing the dead form on the floor.

And then they would have to tell Hermione, and Harry would have to tell them both who it was…

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Harry could tell right away that Malfoy had been told. The boy sat at breakfast with his head bowed over his food, limp scraggly hair falling forward into his face. Harry could tell that Malfoy had been crying—when he looked up, usually to glare at him, Harry could see his bloodshot eyes and stained cheeks.

"Malfoy looks terrible," Hermione said softly.

"I almost feel sorry for him," Ron said.

Harry felt relieved. He had told Ron and Hermione who it was that they had found, though he had initially still hesitated to do so. And while they had not been overly shocked about it, they had not laughed at Malfoy's situation. Harry despised Malfoy, certainly, but that didn't mean he wanted Malfoy's mother dead.

He knew what it was like to have no mother.

"I don't feel any pity for him," Harry said. "I just wish it could have been different. He didn't deserve to lose his family."

"She shouldn't have married a Death Eater," Ron said softly. Harry shrugged.

"Who knows, right?" he said, not feeling very hungry at all. "Maybe she didn't know when she married him…or maybe she made Tom mad. I don't know. It's still a terrible thing."

"Are _you _all right, Harry?" Hermione asked him, meanwhile rubbing Ron's arm. Harry nodded.

"I am," he assured her, though he didn't really feel it.

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"I'm sorry about your mother, Malfoy," Harry said.

Dumbledore had announced Narcissa Malfoy's death that Sunday night at dinner.

"It's a terrible thing to lose a parent," he added.

Malfoy whipped around, silver eyes blazing with hate and grief. "You have no idea, Potter," Malfoy spat. "Get the hell away from me!"

"I just wanted you to know I'm not happy about your mum!" Harry snapped. "I'm sorry it happened!"

"Get out of here, Potter!" Malfoy growled. Harry shrugged, backing up.

"Have it your way," he said. "Hard to want to be a death eater when their boss has one kill your mum," he said harshly.

Malfoy paled. "You don't have any idea what you're talking about, Potter."

"I know," Harry said.

Malfoy opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, his lips twisting into a sneer. "Stay the hell away from me, Potter," the pale teen settled on. Harry didn't move at first.

"I didn't have anything else to say," Harry said levelly, and then turned and walked away.

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**A/N**: Shorter chapter, like I figured it would be. Malfoy's mother never showed up in the story…and now it was only to die. Kinda sad for her, but oh well. It's going to be slightly significant in this story on a relationship level, so here it is. Hopefully, this will tide you over until the next chapter, when more stuff happens. Thanks for reading, and keep on telling me what you think! --Miss Laine


	26. No SNEAKS Allowed

**Disclaimer:** I don't own it. Haven't I said that enough?

**A/N:** This is another chapter that I hadn't originally planned. I'm sorry if it's not intensely exciting or anything, but I just kind of felt like something big was happening each chapter, and it was time to moderate the giant events a little. So here's a chapter about just progressing with things and through the school year a bit. Anyway, thanks for hanging in there.

Recently I've suddenly been receiving a lot of rather negative reviews, which is why this chapter ended up so late. I'm very sorry to those of you that are really enjoying this story, but I guess I was feeling a little wary after that sudden display of dislike from several readers. I spent several more days just re-reading my story, but I don't plan to go back and change anything. At least not yet. If I ever do, it'll become it's own story, probably. Anyway, thank you to those that read and review, and sorry to those that found this story 'pathetic' or boring.

0000000000000 **Chapter**** 26: No SNEAKS Allowed** 0000000000000

Harry put the finishing touches on his transfiguration homework carefully, having twice erased portions of his essay on the side effects of human transfiguration. McGonagall had not been pleased with his last essay's vague answers, and so he had spent extra time in the library just to be sure that he included enough specific details to keep his professor happy.

"Can you read this over now?" he asked Hermione, who took it with a nod. Ron was at a quidditch meeting to discuss the schedule of the rest of the matches of the season, so it was just him and Hermione sitting at the table, trying to finish some homework.

"Read over my charms essay, please," she said. Harry sighed and took her essay, marveling at her perfect handwriting and even lines. She only requested that he read her essays because she didn't want to seem perfect, but he knew anyway that he wouldn't be able to find any mistakes in her work.

"Sure," he agreed. "I'm warning you though—I'm not that good at catching mistakes," he joked. Hermione never made mistakes in her essays. She was much too careful for that.

Hermione gave him a mock-glare, and he focused on reading her essay over. As usual, it was more detailed and clear than his own, with the smooth transitions between topics that Flitwik always noted that Harry _didn't_have. "How are you and Ron doing?" he asked, reading slowly.

Hermione looked up. "Why?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. "I just don't notice much, I guess," he admitted. He didn't really want to demand answers from her, but suddenly he just _had _to ask the questions that had been burning in his mind.

When Hermione regarded him silently for several moments, he decided he'd better just ask his questions before he lost his nerve.

"Do you two get enough time alone? Are you having problems because of me?" he asked. "I feel like I'm keeping you from being together sometimes," he added, trying to explain. Hermione smiled, setting down his paper in order to give him her full attention.

"Harry, don't worry about it," she said. "We started dating with the single rule that we wouldn't let our relationship come between our friendship with you. Don't ever feel like you're in the way."

"Are you sure?" he asked. Hermoine rolled her eyes.

"You asked for it," she said. She fixed him with a level stare. "Why do you think we schedule our prefect duties at the same time?" she asked. "We're not patrolling the entire time."

Harry made a face. "Ew," he commented. "Please don't tell me you 'patrol' closets."

Hermione gave him an evil smirk. "There's a very nice unused classroom on the fourth floor," she told him. Harry mock-sighed.

"Whatever happened to the sweet little innocent girl that I once knew?" Harry asked aloud. "What happened to books being her only friends?"

Hermione smacked his arm. "Well, that little girl realized that boys can be much more interesting than books, Harry," she said.

"Okay, once again: ew!" he said.

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Harry informed Ron and Hermione the next day that the first general DA meeting would be that Wednesday, which he'd figured to be the only evening that no one (except for the Slytherin Quidditch team) would have conflicts with.

"How can we trust them?" Hermione asked him, as he outlined his plans. Harry contemplated the list of last year's members, his eyes gravitating towards one name.

Marietta.

"We're going to have to be less…less informative, I guess," he said. "I don't want it to be a secret organization or whatever. That's too dangerous. It needs to be more like a real club, with meetings in the great hall or something. We practice spells, things like that, and that's it."

"What about—?" Ron asked with a significant look. Harry smiled.

"That'll be the secret organization part," he said. "Only sixth and seventh years can legally start working on it, but I figure Ginny can come too, as long as she stays quiet about it. Any more underaged kids than her, though, and we're asking for trouble that we can't afford to have."

"How's the Ministry going to know?" Ron asked. Harry gave him a look.

"They found out last year, no matter how much spying and sneaking had to go into it. Dumbledore got kicked out of here because of it. We can't ruin things between him and the Ministry anymore than they have been," he explained. "This is our thing, so let's keep it that way."

Hermione nodded agreement. "I'll look up a few more advanced security charms for the list," she said. "What about the general meetings?"

"I'll make up fliers for it," Harry said. "Post them by classrooms, so people will find them. We'll see how many show up and take it from there."

"And the other group?" Ron asked. Harry hesitated.

"Recruit quietly from the sixth and seventh years that we trust. Slytherin's probably a total loss—by this time, they're all probably willing to spy on us for Volde—Tom. But Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw…well, we know most of the sixth years, and some of the seventh years," he said. "Just keep it low-key, and don't tell them what'd we'd be working on. They have to sign first."

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"Just shut up about it," Harry cut in harshly, then looked away, embarrassed. "Sorry," he said. "I just—"

"No, no," Hermione said quickly. "It's fine. Let's talk about something else," she suggested.

She and Ron had begun talking about how much of an arse Snape was almost the instant they'd left the classroom. Harry hadn't said a word, just glad to get out of the class finally, but with every mention of _that name_, he had grown more and more…something. He wasn't angry, really…merely frustrated.

Didn't his friends see that it was beyond words? Snape wasn't an arse or a bloody git or a ponce or anything. He was…below everything. Below recognition.

"First Quidditch match is this coming weekend," Ron said softly, as if afraid to start up conversation once more. "Hufflepuff."

"Shouldn't be bad, right?" Harry said, willing to acknowledge Ron's attempt. "They're mostly new."

"New seeker," Ron said. "Summerby was replaced, I guess. This guy's been training for a couple years in order to replace Summerby, and now they think he's ready."

"Have you seen him fly?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head, looking grave.

"They're keeping him secret as much they can," Ron said. "I don't know if it's because he's _that _good, or because he's that bad."

"Does it really matter?" Hermione cut in. "I know it's important, but you can't change it. Harry's never lost the snitch to someone else before."

Harry didn't correct her. Cedric had caught the snitch before him during third year…of course, he'd been falling off his broom because of the dementors, but that didn't matter. Cedric had caught the snitch fair and square. Harry had lost that one.

"I'll catch it," Harry promised. "You know I'll do my best."

"You'd better," Ron growled. Harry knew his friend didn't mean it as a threat, but he also knew that Ron was dead serious. If Harry didn't catch the snitch…he didn't want to imagine how Ron would react.

"I want to win the cup too, Ron," he said patiently. Ron smiled forcibly.

"Let's just not get our hopes up until we've won it," he said. Harry nodded, thinking about it. It'd be great to get it…it'd be something nice to have at the end of the year, even if it really didn't matter that much overall.

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"Has everyone signed the list?" Harry asked. It had been silent for the first fifteen minutes of the first sixth and seventh year DA meeting, except for the scratch of quills as students signed their names to the new and improved list.

"Everyone's on it," Hermione said, then smiled. "Except for you, that is."

Several laughed—obviously, Harry wasn't going to betray the club that he was heading. Still, he quickly signed his messy signature onto the bottom of the list and gave it back to Hermione. "The reason we're having this…other meeting," he explained, "is because there are several things that can come in handy but need to be kept…quiet."

He stood up, unable to sit and explain his ideas, and forced himself to lean against the wall. The group consisted of about a dozen, with most being those that Harry, Ron, and Hermione knew best. Cho Chang was there, as were Ernie, Neville, Dean, Seamus, Justin and several others. All had been in the DA the year before, and all were those that Harry trusted most…except, perhaps, for Cho, but he couldn't imagine her giving information to Malfoy or Death Eaters. Not after Cedric.

"Over the summer a…friend of mine…agreed to teach me how to be an animagus—" he had to stop a second as everyone whispered excitedly, some obviously drawing the wrong conclusions from his statement. "He didn't get a chance to teach me, but I think we can probably teach ourselves. _That's _what this group is about."

"We're going to become animagi?" Cho asked flatly. Harry could see that Ginny, the lone fifth year, looked incredibly excited.

"We're going to start working on it, more like," he corrected. "It took my dad years to teach himself how to be an animagi," Harry said. "We have some more help, but it'll still take a lot of time and effort."

"Years?" Ernie said. Harry nodded.

"From what I've read, some people have natural talent for it, while others need lots of time," he said. "And," he added, looking around, "A very important first message in all the books has been that it can take quite a long time to become an animagi. And some people never manage it."

"When do we start?" Ginny spoke up, looking excited.

"Now," Harry said. "If that's what people want."

He looked around, watching people nod agreement slowly. "Is there anyone that wants out now?" Hermione asked. No one spoke up, and Harry turned to the desk that the Room of Requirement had so helpfully provided and took up the first book on the stack; _Animagi__: An Intermediate Guide._

"This is the second book I read," Harry explained. "The beginner's guide is not as technical, and mostly involves talking about the history and basics of becoming an animagi."

"We're going to _read?_" Seamus looked a little reluctant. Harry shook his head.

"I'm just suggesting it," he said. "Of course, it really does help a lot to know what you're going to be doing."

Seamus seemed to get it that they'd have to do a lot of reading, and he didn't look too worried about it after all.

"So what are we going to do tonight?" Cho asked. Harry held out a short stack of parchment.

"Reading list," he explained. "We're going to have to meet at least three times a week in order to actually improve at all, so by the day after tomorrow I'm expecting you all to have at least started reading this. The first thing you're supposed to do is work on your ability to focus on something. You don't have to pick anything specific to focus on, because your mind will do it for you. So be prepared to start with that."

The others all nodded, taking the parchments and reading over the list of books and page numbers that he'd given them. "You've read all of this?" Ginny asked, looking surprised. Harry nodded.

"It's really interesting, once you get into it. And Remus has been able to respond to some of my questions about things, too," he explained. The others looked thoroughly interested.

"I didn't know Professor Lupin was an animagus," Ernie said.

"His friends were," Harry said. "They hung out with Remus on the full moons."

There were several more interested faces at this fact, and Harry resigned himself to the fact that he would be answering questions for a long while yet. Of course, he told himself, many of these things he wouldn't be able to answer.

He trusted most of the group, but his parents had trust Peter Pettigrew. And it had led to their deaths.

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"Big turnout," Ron commented, eyes sliding over the throngs of students seated at the tables. Harry nodded, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Guess those fliers really worked," he said. "Er…how many are there, Hermione?"

"Close to seventy," Hermione told him, finishing her count. "Mostly younger years, though there are some fourth and fifth years. No seventh years."

"I didn't expect any," Harry admitted. "Unless they're a friend of ours, are they really going to want sixteen year olds teaching them?"

"It's probably better this way," Ron said. "No one's going to question you as much, Harry."

Harry wasn't so sure about that, taking in the dubious expressions on the small knot of Slytherin's faces. "As long as it doesn't turn into some sort of brawl," he muttered. He blinked, looking over the throng at the half-open hall doors. "Is that _Dumbledore _in the door there?" he asked.

Hermione and Ron's heads snapped up, and Harry could've sworn he saw the old wizard wink at him before leaving. "That was…odd, but not unexpected," Hermione said. "I was wondering if any professors were going to make appearances tonight."

"It's seven thirty," Ron said, glancing at his watch. "Ready to start?"

"All right," Harry said heavily, standing up on a small table to face the crowd. "Sonorus," he said, pointing to his throat with his wand. "I'm glad all of you could make it," he said, adjusting quickly to his now-louder voice. "This club isn't set up to contradict Professor Murkwater's lessons or teach you how to take on Death Eaters," he explained quickly. "This is about getting better at what you learn from Professor Murkwater and especially about learning to defend yourself from attacks."

He turned to his friends, and gestured for Ron to come up next to him. The redhead did reluctantly, looking worried. Harry grinned, then turned back to the crowd. "Today's going to be about shields," he said. "Ron Weasley here is going to demonstrate how to block with a very simple but very effective shield," he explained.

"Er, all right," Ron said quietly. Harry turned to face his friend, first pointing his wand at the table between them.

"Expandus," he said, and held the spell on the table until he had lengthened enough to put twenty feet between himself and Ron. Then, he pointed his wand at Ron. "Stupefy," he said.

"Protego!" Ron shouted, raising his wand. Harry smiled as the spells contacted, a short burst of blue hitting the red stunner for a brief moment.

"Protego is the basic shield that almost all of you here should know by now," Harry said, turning back to the group. "It's simple to learn the basic movement and to get the spell to work, but to put enough power behind it for it to stop nastier hexes, you have to really have it down."

"We learned this already!" someone shouted. Harry shook his head.

"But how often do you practice, really?" he asked. "There's not many chances to, are there? This is that chance. To get good at a spell, you have to practice it. A lot. Do it here. Any other questions?" he asked.

A younger looking girl raised her hand. "How is this going to help us?" she asked. Harry stared at her a moment, contemplating all the times that the simpler spells he knew had saved his life.

"Protego is just one example of a simply spell that can be very effective. It's the quick little spells that can save your life. Put it this way: if a death eater tries to silence you so you can't shout for help, you can shield against the spell and get help."

There was silence, and he assumed that there were no more questions. "Okay," he said. "Everyone needs to pair up with someone about their level. Work on Protego, and I'll come around and help those that need it."

There was a little hesitation, and Harry feared for a moment that there would be no respect for his instructions. But then everyone began to pair up, and Harry smiled and stepped down from the table, raising his wand to his throat while he did so. "Quietus," he said, then cleared his throat to check that his voice had gone back to normal.

He helped out some of the younger students, letting Ron and Hermione go around and help as well, but when he reached some of the third year and above students he had some troubles. They remembered what they'd learned from the fake Mad-Eye, and were a little more surly than the others.

A boy stopped him as he came by, looking bored. His partner stood a bit away, looking bored as well. "This is stupid," the boy told him. "We already know this spell, and we can make it work."

Harry raised and eyebrow. "Care to test it?" he asked the boy.

The boy blinked. "What…against _you_?" he asked. Harry nodded.

"Sure," he said. The boy swallowed.

"Oh…uh…" he stuttered. Harry stepped back a few paces.

"Be prepared," he warned. He got back about thirty feet, then raised his wand. The boy was looking at him with an expression of mingled horror and worry. "Terantellegra!" he said, purposely not putting too much force behind the curse.

The boy reacted a little slowly, but managed to get a shield up in time. The curse bounced off, though the boy staggered a step. Harry nodded. "Good," he said aloud, not really realizing that an audience was beginning to form. "Again," he said. "Petrificus Totalis!" he said, this time emphasizing the spell more.

"Protego!" the boy said, sounding more confident.

But the boy didn't stand a chance. Harry smiled slightly as the boy keeled over, his shield shattered to jagged white shards by the blast of the curse. Harry sauntered forward and undid the curse. "That was good," he said, "But _that's _why you have to keep working. "A sixth year is to a third year what a death eater is to any of us. We have to be prepared for their strength and their skill."

The boy seemed to get the idea, and nodded silently, looking half-embarrassed. Harry let him go, and started on to the next pair, who had nothing at all to say about the spell they were working on.

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Thursday night the secret group met again. Harry had spent several hours the night before reading about the first steps they needed to take in becoming animagi, and he felt that he had it down pretty well. He hadn't tried any of it himself, forcing himself to wait until the next day, but it looked promising.

"Did everyone read what I assign—what I asked?" Harry asked, trying to avoid sounding too teacher-ish.

There were a few nods, but some looked sheepish. "Er…I got through the first twenty pages or so," Ernie admitted. "I've been really busy," he explained. Harry nodded.

"It's your choice," he said. "But we're going to go ahead and get started tonight."

His words were met with a lot of excited expressions, and everyone visibly sat up. Harry took out the book on intermediate animagus training and flipped it open, though he didn't need to look at the book to talk.

"One of the first things to do," he started, "involves a lot of mental stuff. You have to focus on just your hand or your foot. Don't think about it becoming anything, really…think of it more like relaxing into a shape that it's always known. There's an incantation that you have to say…it's kind of difficult, but we have plenty of time to practice."

He got a lot of blank stares at that, and he thought about it a moment and tried to reword it. "There's no potion to take; well, not for this step, anyway," he said. "The incantation is 'Animagus Apparato,'" he went on. "You point your wand at your foot or hand, say that, and then concentrate like I said. The book says that if it doesn't work within about a week of trying every night, then you probably need to change what you're doing. I figure they're writing more towards an audience of adult witches and wizards, so I say about two or three weeks before we try anything different."

He noticed that several looked very worried at the prospect of it taking a month just to get a start at becoming animagi, but no one said anything. He sighed, took off his left shoe and sock, and then pointed his wand at his foot. "Animagus Apparato," he said clearly, then focused all of his attention on his foot. The spell seemed to have worked—he felt a warm tingling in his limb—but it didn't look any different.

His somewhat-ability at Occlumency made it easier for him to block out his audience, and he focused all of his attention on his foot and the idea of it almost melting into another shape. Any shape.

The tingling wore off, and his foot looked no different. He looked up at the others and smiled half-heartedly. Admittedly, he felt a little disappointed that nothing had happened, but logically he knew that the spell working on his first attempt would have been nothing short of a miracle. "See?" he said. "This is going to take a lot of work, and this is only the first step."

"Oh joy," Cho said softly, but didn't argue with him. Harry checked his watch.

"All right," he said. "We've got another hour and a half," he said, "So you can just find an area in here and practice. We'll chat right before it's time to go and I'll tell you what you can work on until tomorrow night."

Everyone got up slowly, dragging cushions and chairs around to various parts of the room and sitting down. Harry settled back in his seat again and focused on his foot. "Animagi Apparato," he said, putting as much effort as he could into the spell. The tingling was stronger this time, almost a burning, and he immediately began focusing again on his foot changing.

By the end of the hour and a half, no one had gotten anything physical to occur. Hermione thought perhaps that her hand had _felt _a little different for a moment, but she wasn't sure. Cho looked especially put out, but, given her rather impatient nature, Harry knew that it would bother her to have nothing happen.

As for himself, he'd had no luck at all. He was trying not to worry about it yet—after all, his dad had managed to become an animagus—and he just hoped that he'd get it after another couple of weeks.

"Work on just clearing your mind," he told everyone, reminding himself strongly of Occlumency lessons. Of course, he hadn't berated or embarrassed or humiliated anyone, so that was where the likeness seemed to end. "Before you go to sleep tonight, do it, and after tomorrow's le—meeting, and so on," he said. "It will help you to learn to focus better."

Everyone nodded, looking weary, and gradually left. Hermione was frowning at her hand, looking somewhat put out that it had not changed, and Ron was stretching stiffly. "That went pretty well," Ron finally said. Harry nodded and stood up.

"You look angry," he told Hermione jokingly. "You need to whip that hand into shape. Imagine, it disobeying you."

Hermione looked up and smiled quickly. "Just frustrated," she admitted. "I know it can take years to learn, but…well, I just was hoping that I'd get lucky, I guess."

"We've got plenty more time," Harry reminded her. "I'm just happy that we've finally started now."

Ron quickly agreed, and the three left together, headed back to Gryffindor.

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Harry could tell that Ron was keeping a very watchful eye on Malfoy. It had started after Malfoy had stopped Harry in the hallway in order to tell him that _'if he ever messed in a Malfoy's business again, he wouldn't live long enough to regret it.'_

Ron seemed to have taken that threat seriously, and Harry almost wanted to yell at Ron to stop being so damn protective. It wasn't like Malfoy could do anything to him at Hogwarts, and it wasn't as if he planned to let Malfoy do anything to him.

After getting his 'revenge' on Malfoy, he really didn't feel like being bothered by the Slytherin teen. There were so many other things going on in his life that he could barely imagine having the time or the energy to get into another fist-fight with Malfoy, let alone any sort of insult duel. It just seemed so…petty.

But Ron continued watching Malfoy whenever the Slytherin was around, blue gaze narrowed. Harry could just imagine Ron thinking, _any minute now, any minute…_

"Ron!" he said aloud, trying to catch Ron's attention. Hermione was supposed to be waiting for them to meet her in the library for some last minute studying (for their Transfiguration exam in less than twenty minutes) but Harry wondered how long she would wait, considering how much they'd procrastinated already.

Finally, his friend turned. "Hmm, Harry?"

"Malfoy's not going to do anything, Ron," he said flatly. "Give it a rest."

"He's up to something," Ron muttered, eyes sliding back to glare at Malfoy again. Harry sighed and pushed open the door of the great hall. Hopefully, getting Malfoy out of sight would help.

"Ron, he just lost his mum. His dad's a convict and a death eater, and he thinks I'm the reason behind it all," Harry told Ron. "Of _course _he's up to something. But nothing's going to happen!"

Ron frowned, looking unconvinced. "I'm not going to let my guard down," he stated firmly. Harry gave up.

"Fine," he said. "Let's just get to the library before Hermione comes looking for us."

Ron glanced at him, as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it and just followed Harry silently the rest of the way to the library.

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That night, the night before their first Quidditch match, Harry felt asleep quickly, having worn himself out working with the 'Animagus Apparato' spell. As such, he only took the time to swallow some of the vision-blocking potion before collapsing back on his bed. He didn't have enough time to clear his mind at all before he was asleep, body forcing him to rest.

Luckily, though, it was a mostly dreamless sleep, and when he awoke the next morning he could remember nothing of the vague forest of dark, wind whipped trees that has fluttered through his slumbering mind.

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**A/N:** Finally, the last of the filler chapters are done! Stuff happens next chapter at least a little, and things get moving some more. Thanks for hanging in there, and thanks for continuing to review! I'll post responses to reviewers next chapter, hopefully, but I was more interested in getting this posted than anything else. --Miss Laine


	27. Hufflepuffs

**Disclaimer:** These characters and settings are not my own.

**A/N:** Originally, this was going to be chapter 24, but then I decided that I was moving much faster than I had planned. So instead I made a different chapter 24 and moved this ahead. Hopefully, this works here and makes the timeline a little better. Don't worry…I'm at over 100,000 words now (yay) and I've got many, many more chapters to go. So hang in there and tell me what you think!

By the way, responses to reviewers will be at the bottom of this chapter.

00000000000000 **Chapter**** 25: Hufflepuffs** 0000000000000

Harry's heart pounded in his chest as he heard the roar of the crowds increase. Somewhere just outside those double wooden doors, there were hundreds of students anticipating this match. It had been the talk of the past week, and Harry had spent a great deal of the time trying to help Katie Bell keep the rest of the team calm. Ron was much too busy dealing with strategy and the weight of being captain, and was almost as nervous as Ginny and Mark. It felt very odd to be a veteran team member, and made him realize that he was very close to actually living through his seven years at Hogwarts.

_Don't__ jinx it now, _he told himself. _Focus on the match._

Ron had been completely unable to focus at their secret DA meeting the night before, his mind entirely on the upcoming Quidditch match. Harry had been able to push the excitement from his mind Friday night, but it hadn't made any difference. Even though it was just his second night attempting the 'Aminagus Apparato' spell, he'd still felt a little disappointment at making no progress whatsoever.

His only consolation was that no one else was making any progress, either. Even Hermione hadn't been able to get even the slightest change out of her hand.

He shook his head, forcing himself to focus back on the match.

This match was important. The reason this particular match was so important was because there had been many rumors that the new Hufflepuff seeker was very good. Apparently, he'd refused to join the team until third year, preferring to train up until then, and he was said to be amazing on a broom. He just hadn't been tested in a match yet. Harry didn't want to put much stock in this new kid, but anything uncertain in a quidditch match bothered him. He had no way to know what this kid would do, if he did manage to do anything. He might just freeze up, Harry told himself. Experience was important.

Of course, their team was pretty new as well, which could hurt them. Kirke and Sloper had gotten better…at least, they didn't hit any of their own teammates with the bludgers anymore, and they didn't get themselves hurt very often, either. Ron seemed to have found his confidence with the win the year before, and Harry had been practicing as often as he could for the match. Ginny, Katie, and Mark were working together fairly well, and Ginny seemed to definitely like the position of Chaser much more than Seeker. But they hadn't played a match, a _real _match, yet.

And now it was time to prove themselves. Their first match of the season, and they were going to show the other teams just what they could expect from Gryffindor. "AND HERE COMES THE GRYFFINFOR TEAM!!" Harry suddenly heard.

"That's us," Ron said, face grim. "Give it all you got, people. This is it."

Everyone nodded and kicked off, shooting through the door as it opened wide. Harry tailed the rest of the team, watching the stands full of screaming students as the team circled the pitch at full speed. He kept back, unwilling to put that much energy into a show of nothing, and instead found his position for the start of the match.

He watched Ron shake hands with the Hufflepuff captain, each smiling tensely. "I want a good, clean game," Madame Hooch told them, then indulged in a smile. "Not that I expect any trouble."

"'Course not, Ma'am," Ron said seriously. The Hufflepuff captain nodded as well, and then both mounted their brooms and flew up, facing each other for the quaffle.

"I've got a Firebolt, too," Harry heard, jerking him out of watching the game's start. He looked up, startled.

It was the other seeker, the third year boy that he didn't know. "Er, all right," he said.

The other boy smirked. "Just so you know that having money isn't going to win this match."

Harry regarded the other boy a moment. "We'll see who wins today," he promised.

"Wh—" the other boy started to say, but the shrill whistle that started the game cut him off. Harry didn't stick around to hear the rest of what the boy had to say, either.

He circled the pitch at a quick but not too fast pace, letting the other seeker think that he wasn't going to have to work to keep up. Harry purposely didn't push his broom, content to almost coast around, eyes scanning for the snitch.

The lighting was terrible for a seeker, he realized. Clouds hid the sun, keeping reflections to a minimum, and the half-light glinting in between each cloud did nothing to help. He couldn't see anything at all.

It didn't look like the other seeker could see anything, either, but by the way the other seeker was actively looking, Harry was pretty sure the Hufflepuff wasn't going to wait for him to find the snitch. At least the boy was that smart. If Harry saw the snitch first, he knew he'd get it.

Fifteen minutes of circling later, Harry was getting bored. He watched the game below him—Gryffindor was up forty points, but the game was far from over. He saw Ginny do a loop and flip the quaffle to Mark, who shoveled it over to Katie in order for her to score easily. Harry smiled. The team was working well together, he felt. They looked good.

He saw movement. The Hufflepuff seeker was diving fast. Harry couldn't see the snitch, but he knew if he was wrong it would be too late. Not even taking the time to think about it anymore, he shoved the handle of his broom down sharply, relishing that sudden moment of free-fall before he leaned in close to the handle of his broom.

"AND CARTER HAS SEEN—"

Harry didn't hear any more of the announcer screaming, since the screaming of the wind past his ears overtook it. He narrowed his eyes to slits against the air, steering gradually on a course that would intercept the other seeker. He couldn't see anything yet…but there was no sun, no glint of gold to see.

He caught up to the other seeker—Carter, he figured—and smiled grimly as the other boy chanced a quick glance, surprise on his face. Obviously, he hadn't expected Harry to catch up so fast.

And they dove together, side-by-side. Harry didn't feel any need to try to push the other off course. That, he reserved especially for Slytherin and their rough tactics.

The ground was coming up fast, though, and Harry wondered just what Carter had planned. He was fairly certain now that the snitch was nowhere around, but perhaps Carter thought he could trick Harry into hitting the ground. Of course, he also couldn't see that well, with the wind blurring his eyesight, so the snitch _could _be there, and he wouldn't be able to see it.

Harry forced himself not to smile. He hadn't been practicing hard for no reason. He figured his feints were nowhere near as good as the professionals, but they weren't bad. If on more than one occasion, Harry had gotten into trouble with Ron for 'scaring him so much,' then he must be doing something right.

He figured they were thirty feet up now. He could hear screaming…the announcer? The crowd? He wasn't sure anymore, his entire attention focused on the ground. Carter glanced at him once, then again. Harry just leaned down harder, forcing his broom faster.

Now he was fifteen feet above the ground, and whether Carter was there or not anymore didn't matter anymore. His eyes were on the pitch, rushing up at him like a solid wall. He blinked by the tears in his eyes as he focused harder, knowing that this would be the closest he'd ever gotten to the ground before pulling up. He just hoped Madame Pomfrey was nearby, in case things got really ugly.

But when he blinked away the tears in his eyes from the vicious winds, he realized something very important. The snitch was RIGHT THERE. It was too late to grab it though, and with a sudden thrill of fear he jerked up hard on his broom, not even realizing that Carter had already pulled up, fifteen feet behind him.

The snitch was right in front of him, zipping parallel to his flight path, but it was behind him about five feet. The force that was trying to smash him into the ground was keeping him from reaching the snitch, which was now zooming just above the turf. It was as if the snitch was chasing after _him,_ and there was no way for him to double back to grab it. He was much too busy trying not to smash into the ground.

His shoulders screamed in protest of the wrenching pull as he curved sharply, and he realized with a sudden triumphant feeling that his feet were actually skimming the grass, he was so close to the ground. He was flying faster than he'd ever flown before, and he smiled into the roaring wind.

The snitch was nowhere in sight now, but he was fairly certain that Carter had lost it as well. There was no way he could double back to find the snitch now. By the time he got himself turned around, it would be long gone.

His consolation, though, was that he'd never flown quite like this before. The other side of the stadium approached in a matter of seconds, and he had to curve sharply to the left, reluctantly angling upward in order to lose a little speed.

He passed close in front of the Hufflepuff stands, barely able to see their blurred faces as he roared past. By the time he reached the top of his climb, he slowed down considerably, and he did several laps of the pitch in order to relax from that dive.

"DID YOU SEE THAT!! DID YOU…I'VE NEVER SEEN A WRONSKI FEINT LIKE THAT!! VICTOR KRUM, YOU'VE GOT COMPETITION!!"

Harry heard the frenzied screaming, and realized belatedly that they were talking about the dive. Which reminded him…Carter was on the other side of the pitch, circling the area. He must have seen something, Harry decided. Carter had no stealth when it came to looking for the snitch. He should have slowly gotten closer to the snitch, Harry felt, and then made a dash at it. Harry wasn't sure he would have been able to make up ground fast enough.

He glided up to Carter, smiling breathlessly still, and the boy glanced at him. "You're nuts," the Hufflepuff said, voice full of awe. Harry grinned.

"Not so bad yourself," he said. "That's the best I've seen of any Hogwarts seekers."

The boy grinned. "Except you, of course. I thought you were going to slam into the ground. Or the stands, or my team's cheering section…"

"Well, it takes a lot of practice," Harry assured the boy. His eyes were already back to scanning the pitch, though. The snitch had to be out there somewhere.

"I think Lee thought you were going to splatter," Carter said. "He was shouting for Pomfrey to get ready to pick up your pieces."

"Not today," Harry joked. The Hufflepuff laughed.

And over his shoulder, about a hundred feet out, Harry saw it. Just a slight glint, in a narrow beam of light, but it was there. Hovering. Teasing him, waiting for him to move.

But Harry didn't want to give it away. He would have to dip under or over Carter to get to the snitch, and that would give the other seeker a good chance to catch the snitch first. Harry didn't know Carter well enough to predict what the other boy would do.

"I can't wait to see you put Slytherin in the ground," Carter went on. Harry laughed, but he wasn't really paying attention. He kept his eyes on Carter, but watched the snitch as well, trying to figure out how to get to it before Carter.

He turned lazily, away from the snitch, and Carter half-followed. Harry wanted to keep the other teen from looking the other way, at the snitch. He pretended that he hadn't seen anything, and slowly coasted downwards, lazing flying in soft curves up and down. He glanced back once, and Carter was watching him alertly, but not following his every move.

Halfway around the pitch, he caught sight of the snitch again, hovering almost where it had been before. And Carter had not seen it.

They were about the same distance from the snitch, though. And he'd only been lucky that Carter hadn't seen it so far. It was time to move. He whipped around, staring off in the opposite direction, and as soon as Carter had turned his broom in that direction Harry turned the other way and leaned forward hard. He accelerated fast, leaning forward as far as he could on his broom.

He could see Carter on his right, but the teen was behind him still. Harry had the lead, and the snitch wasn't moving at all. He reached forward, leaning…the snitch was feet ahead of him…

And suddenly a heavy metal something glanced off his fingertips, whipping him around in a sudden and bone-wrenching spin. He tried to grab onto his broom with his injured hand, but his fingers burned with agony when he tried to bend them. Instead, he had to focus on straightening out again, gripping hard with his left hand and clinging on until he was faced back in the right direction.

Carter had caught up somewhat, but it looked like he'd taken a return blow from the bludger judging from the grimace and the way he was sitting hunched. Harry had lost speed, but so had Carter. He leaned forward again, pinning his injured hand against his chest as he leaned closer to the handle of his broom. Another few inches, and his entire hand would have been broken, he realized. He'd gotten very lucky.

Carter was next to him now, their knees even with each other. Harry leaned farther forward again, trying hard to balance with just one hand, and realized he would have to reach for the snitch with his good hand.

Although last time he'd let go of the broom with both hands, he'd ended up eating pitch.

He mentally shrugged. There was nothing to do for it. He'd have to almost leap anyway, just to get it ahead of Carter. So he leaped forward.

He didn't really think it through clearly, he decided. His broom was good, but not good enough to keep up with its rider suddenly jumping forward after some little winged object.

The broom overbalanced, and his good hand closed on the snitch. "POTTER'S WON IT! POTTER'S GOT IT! IT'S OVER! GRYFFINDOR WINS!"

Harry thought there might have been more. But he was a little more worried about the whole falling off his broom part of what he'd just done. He saw Carter's half-angry, half-scared expression as he rolled by, on his back with his broom just over him but also just out of reach. His bad hand tried to close on the handle and he yelped, his broken digits filling his mind with blinding pain. He didn't see much except stars exploding in front of his face, but he knew his broom had passed by without him.

And he fell. All the way down until a soft cushion seemed to catch him, ten feet off the ground. He could hear cheering, he could hear screaming, but all he could think about was the fire licking at his right hand, burning from the tips all the way up to his elbow. He couldn't seem to lift his hand to see his fingers, but he could move his left hand. And he smiled triumphantly and held the snitch up, watching it glint as it struggled in his hand.

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Madame Pomfrey tutted over his hand for over half an hour, complaining about the injury more than she actually examined it. Harry had to admit that his fingers had all swollen up pretty badly, but they'd quit hurting about the same time that he'd been released from Dumbledore's cushioning spell. The fire had been replaced with the odd feeling of having no fingers at all, reminding him somewhat of his second year, when Lockeheart had magicked all the bones out of his hand and arm.

"It's looking better already," he told the nurse, watching the swelling recede.

"Move them," Pomfrey told him. He wiggled his stiff fingers dutifully.

"I promise, that stuff really helped," he assured her. The nurse looked over her spectacles at him.

"Mr. Potter, I think that perhaps I am the one that should be deciding whether your hand will be fine," she scolded. "You _do _want to be able to use your fingers again, don't you?"

"Well, yeah," he agreed, "But—"

"Don't but me!" she scolded. "You're in here until I say you can go!"

Harry rolled his eyes, but he knew better than to argue. He'd be in the infirmary all night if he argued with her, and he'd heard rumors that there was quite the party starting up in Gryffindor. Hermione and Ron had stayed with him until Madame Pomfrey had chased them out, and Harry had promised them that he'd try to get out as soon as he could.

So that meant no arguing with Pomfrey, even if he was sixteen now and a little old to still let a nurse bully him around. She didn't mean any harm by her fussing, and, Harry had to admit, it felt good to have someone really worry over his health.

"Er—can I at least not be in this bed?" he asked, feeling stupid. When he'd been smaller, the beds had seemed much larger. Now, his feet were at the end and still he was sitting half-up on his pillow. He was still in his Quidditch gear, too, and his heavy robes and pads all felt uncomfortable.

"You stay there or I'll petrify you!" Pomfrey told him. Harry could tell she wasn't really mad at him, but he didn't think it a good idea to test his luck. Instead, he waited for her to leave and then got out of the bed, stretching and plopping down in a chair.

"Mind if I come in?" a voice asked from the hallway. Harry looked up. It was that blonde Hufflepuff, Julie Thomas. Harry nodded, nervous.

"Er, sure," he said. "Uh…Pomfrey's in back I think…"

"I cam to see you, Harry," the girl said, smiling. Harry knew he was blushing, but Julie didn't say a word. "That was some pretty amazing flying you did out there."

"Mostly luck," he assured her. "Your house's team did really well, too."

Julie came closer and sat down on the bed opposite of his chair. "Everyone was watching you, I think."

"Carter's really good," Harry said, uncomfortable. Julie smiled at him again, and Harry wondered just what she was up to.

"Yeah, he is," she agreed. "We're thinking he'll be really great after…well, after you graduate, Harry. That's what he thinks, too. You're a natural on a broom."

"Er…"

"Harry, I wanted to apologize about how I acted in the hallway that day," Julie said suddenly, the smiles and the giggles gone. "I—you just sort of surprised me, is all. I didn't expect for you to ever talk to me or anything. I'd really forgotten about that letter."

"My friends think it's a good idea for me to talk to all the people that sent me letters," Harry explained. "Yours was the first I ever opened."

"I'm glad it was," Julie told him. Harry blinked. Was this girl…was she _interested _in him, he wondered? She was acting awfully chummy…

"Uh," he said, suddenly much more uncomfortable than before. He had images of her cornering him and trying to kiss him, and he wasn't too sure that he was up to it. So far, he'd had exactly two kisses, and both had been royal disasters.

"I just wanted to be sure that you didn't think I was a total blonde," she told him, smiling again. "It really is surprising when _the _Harry Potter comes up to you out of the blue."

Harry smiled back, still feeling a little unsure. "At least you aren't scared of me," he told her. She blinked at him.

"Scared?" she echoed, then laughed. "Yeah, right," she laughed. "You're the poster-boy for light wizards, Harry. I don't get why anyone would be scared of you—unless it's You-Know-Who."

Harry shrugged. "You'd be surprised," he told her. She laughed again, then studied him intently a moment.

"Friends?" she asked. Harry nodded.

"Yeah, yeah I guess so," he said, unsure again. Did she like him or not? And why did it matter to him so much?

"Well, I gotta go see how Carter is," she told him.

"How is he?" Harry asked. He didn't see the other teen anywhere in the infirmary.

"Bludger swung back around and hit him in the shoulder," Julie explained. "It wasn't a really bad hit, so he just headed back to our commons. It's just bruised, he says."

"He did a good job," Harry said, unsure if he was repeating himself now. The conversation was starting to feel awkward to him, and he was very afraid that a silent moment was going to suddenly stretch between them. "It was a fun game."

"I was afraid you were going to get hurt a lot worse," Julie told him. "You were diving so fast…"

"'S funny how I got hurt after the dive," he said with a small laugh. Julie smiled, but didn't laugh.

"Getting splattered on the pitch wouldn't be funny," she told him. Harry looked down, feeling scolded for some reason. He also had the insane urge to apologize to this girl, but stifled it quickly.

"Well, it's not like I want to hit the ground," he assured her. Julie gave a grudging laugh, then suddenly patted his hand and then whirled around.

"See you around, Harry!" she called back over her shoulder, as she almost skipped out the door.

Just as Ron and Hermione came in, Ron now wearing a grin. As soon as the door closed behind his friends, Harry rolled his eyes. He could clearly tell what the glint in Ron's eye meant—he was going to get teased.

And he wasn't wrong.

"Oh, _Harry,_" Ron said, coming to stand in front of him, Hermione plopping on a nearby bed. "You didn't tell us about your new love interest!"

Harry shook his head. "You're nutters, Ron," Harry assured his best friend. "We're…friends," he said.

He heard Hermione stifle a chuckle, and glared at her. "What?" he demanded.

Hermione pasted an innocent expression on her face. "Just take it slow," she advised. Harry knew he was blushing bright red by now, but he couldn't stop it.

"We're friends," he insisted again. "She was just stopping by to apologize for being all giggly last time."

"Uh-huh," Hermione agreed, looking like she was holding back laughter. Harry realized there was no way he was going to win this argument and instead slouched down in his chair, flexing his still-stiff hand.

"When are they letting you out of here, mate?" Ron asked, seemingly done with his teasing.

"Pomfrey's being protective," Harry griped. "She threatened to petrify me if I left before she gave me permission."

Ron eyed his hand. "It's going to heal all right, isn't it?" he asked.

Harry grinned. "Yeah, Ron," he promised. "I'll still be able to catch the Snitch just fine, I promise."

Ron actually breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Good," he admitted. "We still need you plenty, Harry."

"How did the rest of the team play?" Harry asked, trying to change the conversation. From what he'd seen, they'd played well together, but if it got Ron off of his hand, then he was willing to listen to Ron's take on the match.

"Good," Ron said, plopping down next to Hermione. "Ginny and Katie do really well together, and Mark's working fine. He just needs more practice—when you pulled that stupid stunt with that feint, he froze up, though. Most everyone did, mind you, but we could've scored again during those few seconds."

"Well, we won, didn't we?" Harry pointed out. Ron nodded.

"Yeah, that's true," Ron reluctantly admitted. Harry hoped that was the end of it, but was proven wrong as an almost maniacal glint came into the redhead's eyes. "We're going to have to practice more, if we're going to beat Ravenclaw by as much…"

Harry groaned.

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**A/N:** Well, finally. I had to redo the end of this chapter because I finally decided I didn't like it. I'm behind again in chapters, so it's going to slow up a bit as far as updating. I'll try to definitely get one more up before Christmas, but then it'll be three weeks until I update again, since I go on break. But I'll type over break, since I won't have any homework or anything!

And now, for the first time in a while:

_Thanks to Reviewers:_

Niathor – Thanks for the comments. Snape and Harry's 'relationship' has always intrigued me, and it will be revisited very soon. I just have to develop a few other parts of the story and work up to the point where Harry might be willing to actually speak to Snape again. Right now, Snape's still feeling somewhat guilty, though he'd never admit it, so he's staying away from Harry.

Fortuna's Smile – A lot have said that about my Harry in the beginning. I'm just of the opinion that the DoM thing really took a big bite out of his confidence, and he has to regain it slowly. I mean, I guess he seemed pretty headstrong and willing to jump to conclusions in book five, and the whole DoM thing would have knocked the wind out of his sails rather effectively, especially after being left at the Dursleys to struggle through his feelings. This also gives me a chance to make Harry's growth more apparent through the story.

Spaziazi – Hagrid's kind of faded out right now. I figure he's busy or what not, and classes are like normal. Harry doesn't have much time to think about that class, I suppose, and maybe it'll come up in the spring or something. And Murkwater—well, he's lurking, but it's not on the forefront of things…right now. And Snape and Harry will resolve their issues in some way, don't worry.

Ceejaytee – Yeah, I try to get that animagus/animagi think right, but sometimes I confuse myself. Sorry if I get it wrong!

Hazel-a – Your encouragement was wonderful. Thanks for reviewing and giving me that little bolster.

Scarhead101 – Hmm, you might be on to something there…or not…bwah ha ha

Jamesyankee7 – I've gotten lots of comments about Harry being a little wussy, and I'm sorry, but he's trying to regain himself. He'll get it together soon enough, don't worry. I'm a little prejudiced about this, cuz I reeeeely like my last chapter for this story (which is already written) but I think it turns out good.

Also thanks to:

Lashajayne, CurlsofSerenity, AD, Sponge Hearts, HPFreakout, Child-of-Darkness1988, Dianne, Zaptor, Meggplant, Crackerjacknpez, Latuca, Averie, Jenn the Freak


	28. Secrets and Spells

**Disclaimer: **I don't own any of this stuff. I've said that so many times, I think I'm blue in the face.

**A/N: **It took me a while to get this chapter written, and finals week interrupted me too much for it to get finished before Christmas break. So I'm sorry for the horribly long wait, and to make up for it I'm doing my best to make it longer than usual. Enjoy the read and tell me what you think.

By the way, I haven't read over this as much as I would like, so please excuse grammar and spelling errors until I get the chance to correct them.

Miss Laine.

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Ron didn't stop talking about and plotting about the Ravenclaw match by the next morning, or even after several days. If anything, his determination to examine their next opponent from every angle increased, and Harry found himself purposely avoiding any Quidditch-related topics. He loved the sport, he loved playing the sport, but he did not love hearing about every little thing the Ravenclaw team might do at some point during their match.

Hermione, too, seemed to have grown obviously irritated by all the talk of Quidditch, and about the only thing that could get Ron's mind off the upcoming match was DA meetings.

That was another thing that was going…interestingly, Harry mused. The 'public' meetings were still being held and a dedicated group of about sixty were attending every week. At their last meeting, Harry had started those third year and below on summoning and banishing charms for much larger objects than they used in class, while everyone fourth year and above was now working on several different types of disillusionment spells. Just about everyone was progressing well, and several times Dumbledore himself had stopped by to give pointers and chat amiably with students.

On the other hand, the private meetings were not going well. Several…actually, Harry admitted to himself, _most _of the members of that club had dropped out after getting no results for so long, and now only he, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville were left, still trying four nights a week to become animagi. He'd already decided that the next time they met would be when they tried an alternate way to find their animagus forms.

All in all, he felt, things were going all right.

Except for the nightmares.

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"You all right, mate?" Ron asked, looking concerned. Harry shrugged, though it made his tense shoulders feel worse.

"I'm fine," he assured his friend automatically. Hermione gave him a once-over, and then eyed him skeptically.

"Liar," she stated, setting the book she'd been reading down on the table. "Tell us what's going on, Harry."

He made a face. "Nightmares, I guess," he admitted. Hermione's expression melted into a worried, scared face.

"A-are they about…?" she asked, not finishing the sentence.

"Normal stuff," Harry supplied, more than eager to get to DADA, though they were starting on offensive spells in their last few weeks of November. Usually, he'd be excited by this, but he really didn't want to have to face off with Professor Murkwater in any way.

Over the past several weeks, his opinion of the professor had oscillated wildly between vehement distrust and respect. He hid his opinion as well as he could, unwilling to let the man see whether Harry was watching him or not. Some days, it would seem like Murkwater was purposely trying to ferret information out of him, asking about the Third Task or about what had happened on the train ride to Hogwarts. Harry gave up as little as possible—in the second case, it was simple, since he'd been unconscious for the majority of it.

Other days, Murkwater kept his questions to a minimum and instead spent a great deal of effort to teach Harry new spells aside from the other students. While the others would work on a more basic shield spell or defensive spell, Murkwater would carefully ease him aside and then focus on his ability to do passive magic. Murkwater would teach him spells that Harry was certain were usually taught primarily to Aurors, and then show him how to defeat the spells if others used them.

The respect came from the fact that he quickly realized that Murkwater really knew his stuff. He was knowledgeable, professional, and experienced. And his classes showed it. Harry was certain that this year, everyone was learning something in DADA.

Of course, he told himself, everyone had learned from Moody, but it hadn't really been Moody. And so he agreed in his mind to disagree. He wouldn't trust Murkwater, but he wouldn't spend all his time looking for conspiracies involving the man.

He shook himself out of his thoughts as the three made it to the classroom, filing in well before the bell and taking their customary seats in the middle of the room. The rest of the class was mostly there, all eager to start their new topic, and Harry felt for his wand, tucked in his pocket, feeling as if he were in danger already.

"Stupefy!" Murkwater's voice rang out. Harry watched three students to his left keel over. "Petrificus Maximus!" Murkwater said.

Harry already had his wand out. "Protectus!" he said, raising a strong shield. He knew a few others that would have worked better, but he couldn't hold them as long.

Next to him, Hermione and Ron were raising their own shields, while more stunners and a few other spells came zooming around them, taking out students right and left. A few of the more seasoned members of the DA managed to raise shields, but Harry noticed that no one was taking the offensive. Students were still falling, he saw, and he decided to act. Murkwater hadn't told them that they couldn't return fire.

"Rictusempra!" he shouted, banishing his shield in order to cast the spell. The yellow light grazed harmlessly off the professor's shield, which blossomed white around him at the last moment, and Harry thought he saw Murkwater smile before turning his full attention onto him.

"Flagre!" Murkwater said. Harry dove left, ducking a desk in order to avoid the ball of flames.

"Flagrate!" Harry returned, realizing that Murkwater meant business. The spell, which Hermione had used the year before to mark doorways, also worked well as a widespread barrage of fire.

Harry had found that out in DA, when someone had missed their mark and caught the drapes in the Room of Requirement on fire.

"Protego!" Murkwater said quickly, meanwhile slashing his wand down in a sudden movement. Harry raised his own shield as quickly as he could, but the spell had been invisible, and he felt it ram his shield hard, knocking him backwards.

"Petrificus!" Harry shouted, aiming as best he could and moving quickly.

The spell hit Murkwater, Harry was surprised to see—and then saw that Hermione had kept Murkwater busy with a stunning spell that he had to block. Murkwater's left arm and leg seized up, and the man stumbled a step before finding his balance on the remaining limbs that he could still use.

"Expelliarmus!" Murkwater said.

"Protego!" Harry shouted, but the spell wasn't aimed for him. Hermione's wand was ripped from her hand, and with a startled gasp his friend fell backwards onto the floor.

"Accio Wand!" Harry shouted, forcing Hermione's wand to come towards him. He lunged for it even as it wobbled between commands, and Harry ducked the stunner Murkwater sent towards him almost before he realized it was coming.

"Good, Potter!" Murkwater said. "Stupefy!" he shouted again.

Harry threw Hermione's wand towards the girl, making sure she caught it, smiling gratefully, before twisting away from the red jet of light and sending his own stunner back the other way.

"Accio Tapestry!" he heard Hermione shout, and he saw that the huge wall hanging behind Murkwater was pulling free of the wall. Murkwater turned, raising his wand to banish the tapestry away from himself, and Harry took the opportunity to stun the professor squarely between the back.

Harry looked over at Hermione, giving her a triumphant smile, and then looked around the rest of the classroom. Ron was sitting on the ground, rubbing his head, and over half of the other students were out cold on the floor. The rest were staring at him in a mixture of awe and fear.

"You all right, Ron?" Harry asked. Ron gave him a watery smile.

"Hit my head dodging something nasty," Ron admitted sheepishly. "Some help I was." Hermione rushed to his side, kneeling beside him.

"Does it hurt?" she asked him, and Harry almost gagged at her gushing tones. He rolled his eyes instead, then strode up the short flight of stairs to where Murkwater lay, still just a few feet outside his office door.

He hesitated, wondering if he should do this thing right, and finally settled on binding his professor with ropes before casting enervate to wake the man.

Murkwater came to quickly, blinking rapidly and struggling momentarily against the bindings. Once the man realized that he was tied tightly, he smiled up at Harry. "Well done, Potter. I'd say you and Ms. Granger are the only two to get full points today."

Harry smiled. "Thanks," he said. Murkwater wriggled a bit.

"Don't suppose you'll be letting me go any time soon, Mr. Potter?" the professor hinted. Harry started.

"Oh, sure, sir," he said, waving his wand. The ropes disappear, and Murkwater sat up gingerly, rubbing a shoulder. The man got up quickly, though, and surveyed the classroom.

"That was your introduction to offensive spells," Murkwater announced. "Consider yourselves warned."

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Murkwater's 'practical' class was the talk of the school the entire next day. It seemed that everyone fourth year and above had been put through his attack, and only a few of the sixth and seventh year classes had managed to fight back enough to win. Of course, Harry assumed, Murkwater was probably holding back, but that didn't mean he was going that easily on them. He knew for a fact that the other fifth year group hadn't managed to stun or otherwise incapacitate the man.

"I heard Potter hid behind his desk and let that mudblood handle Professor Murkwater," Harry heard on his way to lunch. He could see Ron's hand tightening convulsively on Hermione's arm, but Harry didn't act as if he'd heard. He just walked on past the sullen, pale teenager and headed towards the Gryffindor table.

He was intercepted, though, less then twenty feet from his seat by Julie, who was grinning brightly and walking with a definite bounce in her step. "Hey, Harry!" she said. Harry smiled uncertainly back.

"Er, hi, Julie," Harry responded, feeling awkward. "Er…"

"You doing anything for lunch?" the girl asked. Harry blushed beet red, knowing that Ron and Hermione, walking just ahead of him, had to have heard.

"Er," he said again, feeling very unsure of himself. "Uh, no, I guess," he admitted. He caught sight of Ginny and Luna sitting near his and his friend's usual lunch time spot, and hesitantly stopped. "Why?" he asked.

Julie looked down, hands twisting nervously. "I—I was wondering if you'd like to eat lunch with me," she said. Harry hesitated for the dozenth time or so. He liked Julie and all, but as a friend. Something that he'd not managed to convince Ron and Hermione of, though.

"I—I don't know," he said. "I usually eat lunch here…but…if you want to eat with us…" he floundered.

Julie looked up at him. "I thought you liked me!" she accused. Harry backpedaled fast.

"I—I do," he said. "But as a friend!" he clarified. Julie's face was slowly turning red, and Harry thought he could see steam coming out of her ears.

"You led me on," she growled, "Making me think that you, _Harry Potter, _was interested in _me_, and all the while you were just playing around!"

"That's not what I meant to do!" Harry told her. "I didn't realize—"

"You're going to regret it, Harry," she snapped, then stormed away. Harry watched the odd Hufflepuff girl stomp away, jaw hanging. He shook his head in wonder at the girl's temperamental display of _whatever, _then caught up to his friends already at the Gryffindor table.

"What was that about?" Ron asked, grinning. Harry glared at his friend.

"Julie thinks I wanted her to be my girlfriend or something," Harry said.

Hermione blinked at him. "Didn't you?" she asked. Harry shook his head.

"No!" he said. "How many times do I have to say it? She's nice and all, but I don't think she and I were really going to have any chance at anything. I hardly know her!"

"Could've fooled me," Ron muttered, shaking his head. Luna gave him a typical Luna smile—one that was focused on the far wall, rather than him.

"You didn't fool me, Harry," Luna assured him. "I could tell that she wouldn't ever work for you."

"Thanks, Luna," he said gratefully, kind of worried that the only one that believed him was the only one that everyone else thought was crazy. "At least one person believes me," he muttered.

Ron raised his eyebrows as if to say '_yeah…but it's Luna,' _and Harry studiously ignored him. "Well, I didn't want to and I don't want to go out with her," he said. "And she got really upset."

Hermione sighed. "Well…"

"Well what?" Harry demanded.

"Well, she thought she was going to be dating the _famous _Harry Potter," Hermione told him. "She might have mentioned it to her friends or something, and now she's got to tell them that you didn't even think of it. That's gotta hurt."

"It's not my fault!" Harry snapped angrily, stabbing at his sandwich with his fork. Hermione took the fork from him, setting it down on her other side.

"Harry, it doesn't matter whose fault it is!" she told him sharply. "She's upset, deal with it! If you still want to be her friend, you'll explain it to her better and win her back. If you don't care, leave her alone. She'll get over it, and you can go back to not knowing her!"

Harry glared at Hermione, then gave up. She was right, as she usually was. "Fine," he sighed, turning back to his plate. "I'll talk to her tomorrow, after she's had a chance to calm down some. She might hex me as soon as she sees me, right now."

"Good boy," Hermione told him, patting his shoulder. Ginny giggled at him, then stood up as Dean Thomas came into the hall, waving for him to come over. Ron saw and frowned.

"Don't know what she sees in him," Ron muttered moodily. Harry rolled his eyes and kept eating.

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"We're going to try something different this evening," Harry announced, though really only four people were with him in the Room of Requirement. Ron raised an eyebrow.

"What?" he asked. "Will it be something that actually works?"

Harry nodded and smiled. "Yeah, it probably will," he said. "I didn't want to say until we had this group down to those that were in it for the long run, but a few weeks ago I got a long letter from Remus, explaining what worked best for Sirius and my Dad."

He left Wormtail out of it, willing himself to pretend that the betraying rat had never existed. "So instead of the spell we've been using, try this."

He pointed his wand at his other hand, concentrating clearly on the appendage. "Animagus Verita," he said forcefully.

He felt a strong tingling in his hand—as he had when he'd secretly tried the spell a few days after getting the letter—and this time watched as his skin turned reddish and his fingernails grew into curved black claws.

He heard Hermione gasp, and in the moment that he looked up the spell ended and his hand reverted to normal. "Well, anyway, I think it might work faster," he said with a grin.

The others wasted no time in trying out the spell on their own limbs, and Harry was just starting again when he heard Hermione cry out.

"I've got it!" he heard her cry excitedly, and the others stopped and looked over as she held up a fur-covered arm triumphantly. "What is it?" she asked a moment later.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Ginny all examined the furry arm carefully, and then Ron suddenly laughed. "That looks like cat fur, Hermione!" he told her. Harry smiled too, thinking of when Hermione had taken the polyjuice potion with cat hair in it.

Hermione's smile fell a moment, but then returned again full force. "So?" she said. "Maybe it's a tiger!"

Harry eyed the orange-ish fur, thinking it looked more like the ragged fur of Crookshanks, then smiled again. "Well, come on," he said. "She did it, so that's two of us. I'm sure the rest of you can get at least that far tonight, and then next week we'll start on more."

"Why not tomorrow?" Ginny asked excitedly.

"Everyone probably thinks we've given up by now," he explained. "It'd be suspicious if they saw us still getting together every night."

The others nodded, seeing his point, and then all returned to practicing the incantation. By five minutes to curfew, Ron had managed what looked like a yellowish tint to his arm, but Neville and Ginny were still unable to produce any effect, though both felt the tingling much more than they had with the other spell.

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He heaved into the trash can once more, grimacing miserably at the pain it caused through his sore and aching ribs. His mouth burned, his throat felt raw, and his vision was swimming with tears of pain and misery.

Carefully, he sat up again, keeping an arm resting across the edge of the toilet, and silently thanked Filch for actually cleaning the toilets every night.

It meant that he had a nice, clean toilet to throw up into whenever he needed it. And he was needing it more and more often, as his odd and disturbing dreams had become worse over the last week. More often than not, a normal nightmare about Sirius or Cedric would morph into something horribly wrong—like Sirius, the death eater, torturing a child. Or his mother, pledging allegiance to Voldemort. And always, in the background, would be the stone fortress, standing impassive and impenetrable on the hillside.

The worst part, worse even than the images of his friends all turning against him, was that he couldn't figure out what the visions meant. He had finally mentioned them to Dumbledore, but the wizard could offer not insight—he seemed to feel that they were dreams, and Harry didn't feel like pushing his opinion that strongly. He wouldn't be fooled by these visions, he knew, and he was starting to wonder if he would ever figure out what they were about.

This last dream/vision had been one of the worst, though he thought that about each one. Sirius had been the star of this one…his godfather had started out smiling and healthy, much like he was in the wedding picture that Harry owned, but then he deteriorated into a sickening caricature of his older self, limp greasy hair hanging around a skeletally thin head and pale eyes washed out to nothingness. That was something Harry normally dealt with, though. It was much better than the nightmares he'd had at first of Sirius blaming him for his death.

It got worse, though. The ragged Sirius would suddenly don Death Eater garb and commit some heinous act. Tonight, Sirius had used some sort of horrible curse that had dismembered a young woman with pretty blonde hair and large blue eyes. The cruel laughter coming from Sirius's mouth as the young woman had bled to death on the stone floor, her forearms and lower legs no longer attached to the rest of her body, echoed in his head even now.

As soon as he was able, Harry would force himself out of his dreams, trying his best to escape before the worse of it.

The part where Voldemort appeared, standing on the ramparts of the fortress, smiling coldly. Harry knew then, with utmost certainty, that Voldemort had won. If he ever stood on those walls, looking over the world from inside that impenetrable castle, then all would be lost. No one, not even some prophecy, would be able to stop him then.

It would be over.

Harry heaved again, stomach empty but still clenching sharply at the mere thought of his dream, still so fresh in his mind. His hands shook with exhausted as he pushed himself up from the cool tile floor, flushing the toilet before staggering out of the stall and over to a sink.

He'd told Dumbledore about the nightmares, and had insisted as much as he could that something was definitely going on. His recurring dream about the stone fortress had not faded in the least, though for the moment it seemed to have stabilized. He no longer progressed in any way towards the fortress, but instead spent the better part of those dreams trying to reach the circle of figures standing at its base.

Dumbledore seemed to be at a loss when it came to Harry's 'visions,' though he wasn't going to believe for an instant that the headmaster was telling him everything. He had enough experience now to know that the old wizard would keep something from him if he felt it was the 'right thing to do.'

As it was, though, Dumbledore was doing what he could, and Harry had taken to perusing the library for books that seemed helpful—like _The Seer in You, _and _Old Castles and Where to Find Them. _Of course, neither book had been helpful, but there really wasn't that much for him to choose from. He just had to keep taking the vision-blocking potion and hope that the dreams explained themselves soon or went away.

He ran cold water over his hands, trying to still their slight tremors, then splashed his face quickly with the chilly water. Movement caught his eye and he looked up into the mirror above the sink, almost startled at the face that peered back at him.

His face was pale and drawn, dark circles under his eyes, and he splashed the cold water almost violently in order to try to wash away his haggard appearance. He knew it wouldn't work—it never did—but he hoped it would be enough to keep him from falling back to sleep at all that night.

As if he could stay awake, he thought bitterly as he trudged back towards the sixth year dorms. He was already feeling sleepy again, despite his fear of having more dreams. The potion he took each night ensured that he slept until morning, though he could force himself to stay awake for a short period of time. Usually in order to escape his dreams, and perhaps stagger to the loo and throw up. But then he'd be falling-down drowsy by the time he managed to stagger into the dorm.

Of course, the potion was better than nothing, and he knew he had to at least attempt sleep anyways. He'd used all of his willpower and managed to stay awake a few times before, and always the next day had been torture, seemingly unending because of his tiredness and stiffness.

"All right?" he heard Ron mumble somewhere to his left. Harry sighed and flopped down on his bed, ignoring the twisted sheets.

"Yeah," he said. "Just needed to use the loo," he lied. He couldn't see Ron in the darkness, so had no way to know if his friend believed him or not.

There was no response to his excuse, though, and Harry let his eyes slide closed once more, falling back into his supposedly vision-less sleep.

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It took Harry two days to finally work up the courage and especially the energy needed to hunt down Julie and try to talk to her. He had no idea what he was going to say to her—nothing came to mind—but he was going to find her and do his best to make everything right between them.

He honestly hadn't realized that he'd been leading her on, though he was sure that some girl could probably have read more into their friendship. Admittedly, he didn't exactly have much experience with relationships with other people, having had no friends until he was eleven, but he thought he'd been clear. Julie was nice and all, but she hadn't faced Voldemort, or any danger at all. She hadn't had to make any decisions in her life that had led to death or life. She had no idea what he was like, and he couldn't imagine her ever learning.

"Julie!" he called, catching a glimpse of the girl as she came out of the great hall after dinner and turned to head to Hufflepuff's commons. He saw her hesitate, then finally stop and turn to face him.

He jogged up to her, not wanting her to escape. "We need to talk," he told her. "I need to apologize."

Julie gave him a small smile, though she still looked embarrassed. "No, it's all right, Harry," she told him. Harry blinked.

"W-what?" he stuttered. "But I thought you were mad?"

"I was…because I was embarrassed," she told him. "I told my best friend that you were interested in me, and then I had to told her that you'd never said we'd go out. I still want to be friends, though?" Her last words were almost a plead. Harry grinned.

"Yeah, of course!" he agreed. "I just thought that you…"

"I'm not mad, all right?" she assured him. "You didn't do anything wrong, I promise."

"Are you sure?" he asked, dubious. She sure had been mad at him…"

"Sure," she said. "Friends still?"

"Yeah," he said. "Er…I've got schoolwork to do, so I'd better go," he told her. "See you around, Julie."

Julie gave him her bright smile. "Definitely."

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Saturday came, and with it came their next Quidditch match. Hermione had finally resorted to kissing Ron whenever he tried to talk strategy, effectively shutting the teen up but making Harry distinctly uncomfortable. He was already on edge from his increasingly disturbing nightmares, as well as his own nervous excitement for the coming match.

And now it was here, and Harry wasn't so sure that he was that excited after all. He felt tired and stiff from lack of good sleep, and all he really wanted to do was go back to his dorm and sleep.

The only hope he had, he figured, was the fact that the sooner the match started, the sooner it would be over. He knew that his friends had absolutely no love for Cho Chang, and Julie had actually spent the past several days grumbling about how much she detested the seventh year Ravenclaw. Harry had laughed at her worry, telling her repeatedly that he planned to fly Cho into the ground in order to get the snitch, but at the same time he wondered if Julie's animosity stemmed from the fact that he'd had a crush on Cho, and had even kissed (or been kissed by) Cho. And he wasn't interested in Julie in that way.

He just wasn't sure how to tell her that he wasn't interested in Cho anymore, either. He could barely remember why he'd had a crush on the girl before…of course, back at the start of fourth year he'd been naïve and hadn't seen any of the horrors of Voldemort.

Harry suddenly noticed the faint roar of the crowds and the silence of his teammates all watching him. "Ready?" he asked, to break the silence. Everyone glared at his jaunty attitude.

He gave his teammates another quick grin, watching Ginny swallow nervously as she mounted her broom. The team was ready to go. "GRRRRRRRRYFINDOR!!" the announcer shouted.

"Let's win this, all right?" Ron said quietly, almost pleading. Harry rolled his eyes, and as the doors opened wide he zoomed out along with the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

The blinding sunlight of the cold winter day made him blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness, but his eyes accustomed quickly and he soared around the pitch, just enjoying the feeling of the air rushing around him.

He realized with a start that the game was just about to begin, and he turned back to the center of the pitch and steered gently until he was just across from Cho. The girl gave him what he now realized was a very flirtatious smile, and he smiled, trying to pretend that he didn't understand the meaning of her coy smile and fluttered lashes.

"AND THE SNITCH AND BLUDGERS HAVE BEEN RELEASED!" shouted what Harry realize was Colin Creevey. He wondered a moment why the announcer was almost always a Gryffindor, then thought about it. Gryffindors tended to like being at the center of things, even if they didn't usually act like it. And Colin was probably a good choice, Harry admitted to himself reluctantly.

He turned his attention to the field again, as the bludgers zoomed away, whipping around and beginning their first attacks. There was the glint of gold as the snitch reflected the weak but bright winter sun, and then it too was gone.

Madame Hooch blew a whistle, and suddenly the game was underway. Cho stuck close to his side, content to shadow him, and made no attempts to speak with him. She had quit coming to the animagus meetings the week before, fed up with her lack of progress, and Harry hadn't tried to talk her out of it. The more people that left, the better, he felt. It had pared the group down to those that were the most dedicated to seeing this thing through, and also left the others with the impression that they would never succeed in becoming animagi.

They were still friends, sort of, though Cho still tended to defend Marietta's actions much too vocally, and Harry found himself still subconsciously avoiding the girl.

_Focus on the game, _he scolded himself. Cho was surveying the surrounding skies with a sharp eye, and Harry forced himself to do the same, knowing that the bright light would make it simple to see the glint of the snitch as it flew.

He heard as the score grew, Ravenclaw just ten behind Gryffindor, and watched Ron block a shot with an outstretched hand before suddenly homing in on the gold glint just behind the Gryffindor hoops.

His broom shot forward as he leaned against the handle, forcing it to accelerate as fast as it could, and more heard that saw Cho racing to catch up. The snitch stayed steady until he was just five feet from it, then suddenly began to move, zipping quickly around in an arc that he had a hard time copying.

Cho gained ground by making a shallower turn, and he saw her out of the corner of his eye as she pulled even with his knees, leaning flat against her broom. Harry pushed his own broom harder, forcing it faster, and almost before the snitch had turned he followed it, lunging forward in order to grab it tightly.

He only listened with half an ear to the announcement of Gryffindor's win, giving Cho a quick smile before spiraling back down to the ground to be congratulated by his team. Really, Harry was much more interested in a hot drink and a long nap, but his teammates forced him to join in the celebrations that night in their tower. It was only at two in the morning when they finally let Harry stagger up to his dormitory…

And he was so tired that he never realized that he fell asleep without taking the vision-blocking potion until it was much too late.

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A/N: Sorry for the cliffie, but this is my first update since before Christmas break. I'll have another up in less than two days, I promise, and that way you won't have to wait long. Everything's been hectic lately, but on a good note I did well in my last semester. Now I just have to survive the current semester, then several more years of horrible and agonizing classes.

I would have updated much, much sooner, but to my frustration the internet has a mind of its own around here, as does my computer, and it's almost impossible for everything to be working. It's like the planets have to align or something.

Anyway, I'm also working on some new stuff, which I might post if I get enough done, and again I'm sorry for the wait.

Thanks for being patient, and thanks for reviewing! --Miss Laine


	29. Betrayal and Blame

Disclaimer: Don't own it, you know that.

A/N: Sorry, sorry, sorry sorry, I've been unable to get an internet connection for weeks, since I actually have to pay for it now, and it's quite a bit a month. But I did it finally, as you may have noticed from my previous update, but I was so eager to get it posted that I didn't have much time to put an explanation of my sudden dropping off the face of the planet.

This semester is killer, and I've already dropped a class in order to have enough time for my other classes. They're all really tough, and I have long, long labs every week that are taking up a huge amount of time.

But I said I was going to finish this, even if it drove me nuts, so here I am, back at work. Mostly, I'm doing it because I really want to get it done, and I really want to post some future chapters that I've already written and really like. So read, enjoy, and please don't yell at me too much for being horribly late!

Also, my grammar and spelling may not be perfect. I've only read through this twice, since I was so eager to post it. Miss Laine

00000000000 Chapter 29: Betrayal and Blame 000000000000

Harry awoke suddenly to the agonizing pain of what felt like an axe being slammed straight through his skull, right between his eyes. He didn't realize he'd screamed aloud until the curtains around his bed were jerked back and a pale, freckled face looked down at him.

"Harry?" Ron asked, sounding scared. Harry didn't register the query; he was much too busy trying to stop the pain and get the agony to abate. He clenched his fists into the sheets on either side of his body, teeth grinding together harshly as the pain consumed him, and he could vaguely hear his harsh breaths as he tried to keep from passing out.

"I'm going to get McGonagall," he heard somewhere over his head—had Ron spoken; he didn't know—and then suddenly he was sucked back into the hell inside his head as he tried to force the pain—pain he now recognized as being Voldemort-sent—out of his head.

"Get. Out," he growled aloud, squeezing his eyes tightly shut and focusing as best he could on Occluding his mind. His skills in Occlumency had not been tested for many months now, and he was finding it hard to clear his mind while such pain was driving through it.

"Mr. Potter!" he heard suddenly.

The sharp voice of his head of house cut through his slow attempts to Occlude his mind, and his eyes opened abruptly, though the pain did not lessen in the slightest. Tears were leaking down his face now; he could feel the wetness on his cheeks only slightly.

"Volde—" he ground out, gasping for air even as he tried to explain while still keeping his weak hold on his own mind.

A moment later another entered the room, and Harry's head seemed to split completely in half. He knew he screamed this time, arching back onto the bed in pure agony as something horrible and repulsive erupted inside of his body, its long claws digging their way through his mind with molten rage.

_"Traitor," _he heard himself say, his jaw working on its own, or, rather, under the control of Voldemort.

_Get out! Get out! Get out! _He shouted inside his mind as loud as he could, but Voldemort just laughed silently.

**_Is that all my little spy could teach you? _**Voldemort hissed softly to him. **_His stupidity and his trust in you have doomed him, boy._**

****

_GET OUT OF MY HEAD!_

**_I rather like it here, _**Tom said to him, tones jovial.

_"You have been betrayed, my snake. You lied to me, and you will pay!" _Harry could do nothing to stop the words coming out of his mouth, and he could not even express his fear and guilt as Voldemort glared through his eyes at the last person to come into the room.

Professor Snape. Carrying several bottles of potions, that Harry realized were certainly for him, to help him.

_"Your death will be slow and painful compared to even what I will do to the brat."_

And now Tom knew, Harry realized. He had been unable to keep his thoughts his own, and now Voldemort knew the truth. He didn't even register Tom using his body…his thoughts were consumed with trying to stop Voldemort from rummaging through every corner of his mind.

**_Ha, ha ha, _**Tom laughed loudly inside his head. **_I know much more than just about my little traitor, _**he hissed. **_My nephew…of sorts…I know many things now…Neither can live while the other survives…hmmm…_**

****

_"I will make you kill him," _Tom said. _"I will make you listen to him beg for death."_

****

Harry was suddenly reminding of that night in the Department of Mysteries, and although he was vaguely aware of someone shaking him his thoughts had darted back to months ago as he screamed for someone to save his godfather, to pull him back from death.

This time, though, Voldemort did not scream or leave him as the memories of love flooded him. Tom was holding on tightly, refusing to surrender against the onslaught of emotion.

_"The boy cannot fight me," _he heard Tom say aloud. _"I will force you to kill him!"_

Harry hoped they would kill him. Anything to stop this pain and the fear and shame he felt. He just wanted to be free so badly…

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He woke to someone shaking him hard by the shoulders, and he groaned and shook his head, trying to get them to stop. The pounding in his head throbbed with every shake of his body, and finally he had to open his eyes and thrash his arms in order to stop the attack.

"Get away!" he snarled, then suddenly stopped, everything that had happened rushing back with sudden clarity. "Oh Merlin," he breathed. "Oh damn."

"Damn is right," he heard someone…Snape…spit from the vicinity somewhere on his left.

"I…I forgot to take the potion," Harry realized slowly, fear slicing through his heart. "He knows…"

"The burning of the Mark would suggest so," Snape snarled. "You've betrayed us all, Potter."

"I…" He didn't know what to say. Snape was right. He'd messed up big time, and now everyone was going to have to pay for it. "I fell asleep before I even realized…"

He cleared his throat, since it felt very irritated and sore, then realized that it was that way because he had screamed. Many times.

"How are you feeling?" a softer voice asked, and he glanced over in surprise. Remus was standing near the wall to his right, leaning on the bedpost with his arms folded on his chest.

"Uh…I'm fine," Harry said, knowing that they probably knew he was lying. Now that he was properly awake, he could feel the burning pain in his muscles and the stiffness that was taking over his back. "Stiff," he grudgingly admitted.

"The Dark Lord knows all now," Snape said quietly. "My usefulness is over."

"Indeed," Dumbledore said softly, coming into the dormitory. "It was only a matter of time, Severus."

"It would have been a much _later _time had not—" Snape started to say, voice raised with anger, but Dumbledore cut him off.

"That is of no importance now," the old wizard said calmly. "What is done is done, and we will move on from there."

"To where?" Snape demanded. "There are no more secrets to be kept! He had ripped everything out of the boy's weak mind!"

"He doesn't know everything," Harry felt obliged to point out, though he kept his voice quiet and trained his angry glare on his knees.

"Really?" Snape demanded in a hissing, condescending voice. "What is left—he doesn't know your transfiguration grades? He doesn't know your Uncle's name? Please, enlighten us!"

"He doesn't know I've been dreaming about that fortress," Harry said softly. "He's been dreaming of it too."

Snape didn't say anything at first, and Harry looked up to see the calculating look in those black eyes. Dumbledore as well looked silenced, as if mulling over something intensely important.

"How you know he's been dreaming of it?" Remus asked, voice level.

Harry hesitated, trying to think of how to say it. "Come on! We haven't got all day!" Snape shouted.

Harry glared at the man, letting all of his anger go into that single moment where their eyes met before he looked away, trying to get his emotions under control. He'd almost been possessed this summer because of his anger—he didn't want that to happen again. "I could see some of his thoughts," Harry admitted. "It's hard to remember them at the time…but it's on his mind. He keeps dreaming about the same thing that I am. Except he's at the top of the hill…" The last part was almost a thought to himself, as he imagined the dream in his mind—and the figures on the hill that he was always trying to reach.

"I would ask that you tell no one of this," Dumbledore requested. "If word were to get out that you were possessed by Voldemort inside of Hogwarts…"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know," he said. Guilt rushed in on him as he realized how much of a blow this could be to the Order, and for once he was grateful that he didn't know that much about what went on in the Order. "I'm sorry."

"We should have anticipated something of this nature, given the boy's inability to follow a simple direction," Snape snarled. Harry felt the anger bubbling up again. He hadn't asked for the scar he bore. He didn't demand that Tom come after him. He didn't want any of it!

_But__ you're stuck with it, _a voice inside of him said softly. _You didn't have a choice, true, but it's your choice to run away or stay and fight._

Harry looked up. "I can't change my mistake," he said aloud. "I said I was sorry, and I am. He was able to fight back much more this time than ever before, and I don't even know what I did to get him out of my head."

"Perhaps he grew bored with what passes for thoughts in your head," Snape said snidely. A look from Dumbledore silenced any further comment the man had to make, and Harry watched emotionlessly as Snape swept from the room, muttering angrily under his breath.

"Poppy will be by soon to administer potions," Dumbledore said, a little more life in his voice. "You were given some while unconscious, but it seems to have not been enough."

"What happened to my friends?" Harry asked, looking around at the empty beds.

"They were asked to remove themselves to the common room until this evening," Dumbledore explained. "I do not think anyone but Mr. Weasley knew just what was happening to you."

Harry nodded. "I'm sorry," he said again.

"I do not think you would willingly go through that," Dumbledore said, finally smiling as he gazed at Harry over the tops of his spectacles. "Even I make mistakes," the man pointed out, and Harry remembered that past year, when he had stood in Dumbledore's office, shaking with rage and guilt.

_…I acted exactly as Voldemort expects we fools who love to act…_

"I don't need Madame Pomfrey," he said aloud, changing the subject as best he could.

"You do," Remus countered. Harry sighed, lying back.

"I'm fine, really, I am," he assured him. Dumbledore slipped out at this moment, leaving Harry to face the worried werewolf alone.

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Hermione and Ron weren't around when Harry finally managed to escape the dormitory and get down to the common room. Pomfrey had forced him to drink several pain-relieving potions, and they had made him sleepy enough to drift off for several hours. When he had awoken, he had been alone. Only a note from Remus told him that the werewolf had been unable to stay—Order business. Other than that, his dorm had been empty.

In fact, he realized suddenly, the common room was completely empty. It was rare that no one was lounging about or doing homework, and he took the chance to pick exactly what sofa he wanted to relax on while he waited for a bit more of his strength to come back to him.

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep again until he was woken by someone patting his face. His eyes snapped open as he rolled to the right, pulling his wand from his pocket.

"Relax!" he heard. Hermione kneeled beside him, and he looked up at her in surprise.

"Hermione?" he asked. She smiled.

"Are you all right?" she asked. Harry forced himself up to his feet as gracefully as he could, putting his wand away and rubbing his eyes to clear them.

"Yeah, just startled," he admitted. "I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep."

"Ron's worried about you," she told him. "So am I."

"I'm all right," he promise. "Pomfrey gave me something."

"Ron said you were screaming," Hermione said softly. Harry shrugged, feeling uncomfortable.

"Where is Ron?" he asked. Hermione sighed.

"Outside, flying," she told him. "He's been out for hours. I think he's feeling…guilty or something."

"What? Why?" Harry wondered. Hermione sighed again, biting at her bottom lip.

"He talks a lot about how he wishes he could do something to help," Hermione admitted. "I think he feels like he's not helping you at all."

"That's not true," Harry said with a frown, still somewhat confused. "You two are the most important things to me."

Hermione smiled, but Harry could see tears in her eyes. "You're the most important thing to us, too, Harry," she said. "We want to be able to help. A lot more than we are now."

"I'm not even doing anything," Harry pointed out. "Except letting Voldemort rummage through my head," he added bitterly. Hermione stared at him with wide eyes.

"He…he…"

"He knows about the prophecy, and about me being related to him, and about Snape being a spy," Harry told her. "Dumbledore didn't seem too fazed, but Snape was shouting. And he was right."

"Oh, Harry," she said softly.

"Don't tell me I should have tried harder," he snapped suddenly, realizing her scolding tone of voice. "It's a little hard to concentrate when your head's splitting in half!"

"I wasn't going to," she told him, sounding hurt. "I just was going to say not to heap more guilt on yourself!"

Harry blinked. "What?"

"I can see it in your eyes, Harry," she told him. "You're feeling guilty for this too."

"I _did _fail to keep Tom out of my head," he pointed out. "I _did _manage to forget to take my potion," he added. "It was a stupid, careless mistake that I would have made years ago!"

"It's too late to change it," Hermione said softly. "Come on, let's go out to the Quidditch pitch."

Harry felt off balance from the sudden shift in conversation. "Er…sure," he said. Hermione smiled, and he followed her out to where Ron was busy flying laps around the goal posts.

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The high point of Harry's week came during the animagi training DA meeting. Hermione had managed a little more fur on her arm, and Ginny had finally managed to make her skin turn several shades darker, though whatever she was going to be was still a mystery. Ron's yellowish tinge had become more definite during this second meeting, and Harry and the others were still trying to decide if there was a sort of darkened pattern on Ron's arm.

Neville had yet to accomplish anything, though he was working hard and not losing hope. Harry wasn't sure what the other teen was doing wrong, and didn't have enough experience himself to figure out a solution.

Harry had tried the spell several times, concentrating hard only to see the hooked claws and reddish skin fade appear then fade over and over again. Finally, he sighed and lay back on the couch he was sitting on, wand held loosely in his hand.

"I don't know what else we're suppose to do," he said aloud. "Remus said it happens differently for some people, after they start to get the spell working. 'Animagus Veritas' doesn't seem to be—"

"HARRY!" he heard Hermione almost shriek, and he sat up in alarm.

"What? What!" he demanded, looking around for danger.

"Your…hand!" she said, pointing. He looked down, still confused until he saw that his left arm was no longer really an arm. His skin had turned to red, finely-scaled hide, and his fingers had melded into three thick digits tipped with long, curved claws.

"Whoa!" he said, jumping when he moved the very foreign limb. The others came closer, while Hermione grabbed a book off the shelves and opened it.

"Hold it up, Harry," she directed. "I'm going to try to figure out what it is."

Harry nodded, holding up the awkward appendage for his friend to see. She was leafing through the thick tome rapidly, brow furrowed as she went through more and more pages. "I don't get it," she mused aloud. "This doesn't make any sense!"

"What?" he asked, feeling a little panicked. The arm wasn't changing back—in fact, it felt like the transformation was crawling up his arm, towards his shoulder. "What am I?" he asked her.

Hermione looked up, a frown on her face. "An animagus can't be a magical animal," she said. "It just…it doesn't happen," she told him. "But…that looks like the arm of a Chinese Fireball," she diagnosed. "A dragon." Harry blinked.

"Uh," Ron said. "Well, I guess they're wrong," he said.

"This is very, very unusual," Hermione said. "Do you think it has anything to do with Voldemort?" she asked. Harry saw Ginny start slightly, as did Ron, but he ignored it.

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know if Voldemort's an animagus."

"You should ask Dumbledore," she told him. Harry shook his head, focusing on changing the limb back to his own hand.

"He'd want to know why I'm asking, and I'm not sure he'd approve of all this," he said.

Hermione looked ready to argue, but didn't say anything more. "Can you change it back?" Ron asked him.

"I'm trying," Harry said. "Finite Incantatem," he finally said aloud.

There was a 'pop,' and suddenly he was once again looking at his own arm again. He smiled. "I guess I figured out how it works for me," he said aloud.

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Classes that week were very tense for Harry, who had the feeling that Murkwater knew something of what had happened that weekend. The man kept glancing at him oddly while they were working on curses and counter curses, and did not speak to him once. This was such a change from how he usually treated Harry that it put him even more on edge. He couldn't confront the professor about it directly, but he found himself watching Murkwater all through class, even when he should have been keeping his eyes on the spells he was casting.

And, of course, Potions was hell. Snape never said anything aloud to him, but Harry could almost feel the sour man's glares drilling burning holes through his back. Snape had the right to be somewhat angry, Harry had to admit to himself, but this was ridiculous. Snape didn't have to spy any more. He wasn't going to get uncovered at some Death Eater meeting and be tortured to death.

Even if he wasn't any use to the Order any more, Harry thought that Snape had gotten off pretty well.

That is, until he saw the man clutching at his left forearm during class on Thursday. The mark had to be burning constantly, Harry realized. He'd felt his scar prickle numerous times throughout the week, but it probably was nothing compared to the pain Voldemort could inflict through the Dark Mark.

He didn't say a word to Snape, though, and Snape purposely failed his potion at the end of class, commenting that it was 'too orange.' Harry knew it was only slightly brighter than Hermione's perfectly-done potion, but he didn't say a word. He wouldn't have cared if Snape had dumped his potion out or banished it away. It just didn't matter.

His dreams were getting worse again, he was tired all of the time, and he was constantly worrying that he would again be attacked by Voldemort while he slept, though he was careful to take a little extra of the vision-blocking potion every night. Dumbledore had been unable to offer up any more clues on the dreams he was having, and his own research in the library had not unearthed anything either.

It felt like he was getting nowhere at all. He wasn't being kept in the dark so much anymore. It was more like he couldn't keep control of his life. Little made sense, and even his unusual animagus form made him feel off balance, as if nothing at all made sense any more.

Ron and Hermione were as supportive as humanly possible—to the point where they were practically stifling him, though he didn't have the heart to shout at them to back off. Hermione's words had made him think—it had to be difficult for them, he realized, to be unable to do anything at all.

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Friday afternoon, he was headed to lunch with Ron and Hermione when Julie showed up, smiling and appearing almost instantly at his side. "Hey, Harry," she said, smiling. "I was wondering—can we talk a minute?" she asked.

"Sure," he agreed, blinking. "Er…what's up?"

Her smile wavered a moment. "In private?" she asked. Harry hesitated, but Hermione gave him a little shove so he was forced to follow Julie as she walked out of the Great Hall and down the hallway. He caught up to her, wondering what she wanted to talk about. He hadn't seen her much the entire week, though whenever he'd seen her in the halls he'd smiled and said hello. She'd returned his greetings with smiles every time, so he wasn't sure what was wrong.

"What's going on?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

"I—I'm fine," she said, sounding unsure of herself. Harry glanced at her, letting her continue their walk in silence. If she needed time to think, he'd let her have it.

"Where are we walking?" he asked suddenly, realizing that they'd gone down a flight of stairs and were in a narrower, darker hallway. He turned to go back, but Julie stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"Wait!" she said. Harry pulled.

"No," he said. "Let's go back up—"

Julie burst into tears, and Harry had to turn back as she slid down to the ground, sobbing loudly. "What's wrong?" he asked, alarmed. "Are you okay? What happened?"

"I—I—" she sobbed, face buried in her hands. Harry knelt beside her, trying to get her to look up at him and tell him what was wrong. He really wished he had Hermione with him now to tell him just what he should do, and he was afraid that he was just going to make things worse. He certainly had with Cho, and this was going almost as badly.

And it got much worse as someone down the hall shouted. "Expelliarmus!"

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A/N: Sorry, Cliffie again. I'm writing as fast as I can, and I had to end here as I already have the next chapter all planned out from this point on. Soon I'll do reviewer responses, when I have a moment, but for now just hang with me. I appreciate all the support and even all the critical reviews, because they're helpful in making me a better writer. I can't wait to get to the next few chapters—one coming up is a favorite of mine, and I'm in the process of rewriting another that should be really great.

Look for more action and Snape appearances in the upcoming chapters!

Also, I'm thinking there's probably no more than twenty chapters left to this, though it could be as few as ten or as much as thirty. I'm not really sure. It's coming up on xmas in the story, though, and the spring is mostly going to involve the resolution of the whole 'dark fortress' thing.

Please keep reading and reviewing!

Miss Laine


	30. Unexpected Find

**Disclaimer**: Same as usual.

**A/N**: I've been planning this chapter for some time, but it was pretty hard to get just how I wanted. This is kind of an important event for Harry, more so than any other character in it, and it was hard to make it work. Hopefully, it does.

000000000000 **Chapter 30: Unexpected Find** 000000000000000

The sudden spell would have disarmed just about anyone, but Harry's passive shield suddenly seemed to 'awake,' and Harry was only knocked rolling by the disarming spell. His hand still had a firm grip on his wand, and he was on his feet in an instant, glaring down the dim hallway at his attacker.

"Malfoy," he spat, though he was paying more attention to his surroundings and the way Malfoy's wand was pointed. "What the hell?"

"I told you I'd make you pay. For my father, and now for my mother," the blonde growled, wand raised. "Don't think for an instant I was going to let it all go."

"This is stupid, Malfoy," Harry said, trying to sound calmer than he actually was. "You'll get expelled over this."

"I don't think so," Malfoy said, sauntering a few steps closer. "Dumbledore's not willing to let me out of the castle any more. Afraid I might convey a few interesting bits of information to certain third parties."

Harry's grip tightening on his wand as he watched his opponent advance. "I'm going to beat you again, just like I do every year," Harry said, figuring a fight was inevitable. He might as well get in a few good barbs while he had time. "Hope your teeth got straightened back out," he added, in reference to their fistfight that summer. Malfoy glowered at him.

"I've had enough of your arrogant attitude," Malfoy snarled. "Hemmoragus!"

Harry raised a quick shield and watched the unfamiliar spell shatter against it, then lowered it in order to return with his own curse. Malfoy sidestepped it, though, then came closer, firing a quick volley of fire curses that Harry easily blocked.

"Constrictus!" Malfoy snapped. Harry dodged, knowing the spell was difficult to block, and darted forward as well, sending back his own attack. He and Malfoy traded spells for perhaps two or three minutes, the intensity increasing with every spell.

He heard a cry and suddenly remembered Julie, who was against the wall, arms hugging her knees. Malfoy was sending spells almost randomly, trying to catch him as he dodged, and several had sizzled just past the girl. "Dammit," he muttered, trying to get near her. "Stupefy!"

While Malfoy was blocking the stunner, he managed to make it to Julie's side. He kneeled down next to her, trying to get her attention, and finally she looked up at him. "Go get help," he told her, then had to turn to block the curse Malfoy was sending his way. "Prote—" he started to say, when suddenly a hand darted out and gripped the end of his wand, jerking it so that he could not complete the wand movement necessary for the shield spell.

An instant later the impedimentia curse hit him squarely in the chest while he was busy gaping at Julie in shocked betrayal, and he fell backwards onto the stones. His wand was ripped from his suddenly clumsy fingers, and he watched with burning anger as Malfoy walked up, grinning. "Like I said, Potter, I'm going to get even with you. And I'm a Slytherin—I don't play fair."

Malfoy gave Julie a smirk, but she didn't look that happy. She held Harry's wand in her hand, a look of indecision on her face. "Get out of here," he snapped at her. "And if you tell anyone…" The teen let the threat hang in the air, and Harry watched with powerless anger as Julie ran off, his wand slipped into her pocket.

A kick to his neck turned his attention back to Malfoy. "Asshole," Harry got out through his half-numbed mouth.

Another kick, this time to his hip, warned him not to say anything more. "I think it's time to show you your new home for the weekend," Malfoy stated cheerily. "And unless you want me to get angry, I wouldn't talk too much."

"Go to hell," Harry said angrily, bracing himself as best he could when Malfoy cursed him.

"Constrictus."

Harry gagged as an invisible cord seemed to tighten around his neck, cutting off all air, and he couldn't help but gasp wildly as his vision swam and the curse tightened around his neck even more.

"Finite," Malfoy said in an offhand manner, and Harry hacked and wheezed painfully, trying to get much needed oxygen back into his starved lungs.

He barely noticed as he was lifted off the ground by a spell, and could do nothing as Malfoy directed his stunned form down the hallway, then down several flights of stairs and around numerous corners. He tried to remember as many of the turns and twists as he could, while he tried to break free of the impedimentia that held him almost completely immobile.

Finally, Malfoy stopped walking, and Harry realized that they were outside of a very small storage cupboard. He glared as Malfoy gave him a smirk and opened the cupboard. "By the way," Malfoy said, then flicked his wand. Harry could do nothing as ropes wrapped around his wrists and ankles, binding so tightly that the ropes were digging into his skin. "Have a good stay, Potter. And, just so you know, I've found out that this cupboard is the only one to have a misdirection spell on it. No one's going to be able to find you."

"When I…get hold of you…you're going to wish I would kill you," Harry growled. Malfoy sneered at him.

"Good luck with that, Potter. You're only going to be here until my father comes to collect you, anyway," Malfoy informed him. Harry stilled, surprise, and Malfoy laughed. "What, you hadn't heard? My father escaped two days ago, Potter. He's quite happy to hear that I've got you all wrapped up and ready for him."

Harry ignored Malfoy's arrogant words and instead focused on trying to wriggle his wrists and ankles to test the ropes. He had one last glimpse of Malfoy as he was set down onto the floor of the cupboard, and then he was plunged into darkness. He was alone.

"Dammit!" he shouted, suddenly able to move and speak at a normal speed. He thrashed around until he was sitting upright, then tried to move his hands. They were so tightly bound together, though, that he couldn't even being to move them.

He could feel the front and back of the cupboard with his back and his feet, and by wriggling a little to each side he found the other two sides of his prison. It was bare—there was nothing he could use to try to sever his bonds.

"Stupid, Potter," he said softly to himself. "You spend all your time being paranoid about Murkwater, and yet you don't even think to keep an eye on Julie. Stupid!"

He tried to focus on the ropes, hoping he'd be able to get his accidental magic to do something, anything, but he was afraid of getting too angry—it would make him that much more vulnerable to Voldemort, and he preferred his chances at breaking free of the ropes over his chances at keeping Voldemort from possessing him.

His hope lay in being able to free himself on his own, and, as he worked to free himself, he thought about how much Malfoy was going to be hurting when he got through with him.

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He knew it had to have been at least an hour or two already, and he was no closer to being free. Fear of visions kept him from drifting to sleep, as did the slightly too-cool temperature of the cupboard. His back ached from slight shivers, and his feet and hands were slowly going numb from lack of circulation.

Harry sighed aloud, trying to think of something else to do. His fingertips were bloodied from attempting to loosen the rope around his ankles, and now they were too numbed and clumsy to be of any use.

Another idea crossed his mind, and he awkwardly pulled his bound hands up to his mouth, trying to use his teeth to tear at the ropes. It was hard to get any purchase on the tight ropes, but he scraped at them repeatedly, feeling a few strands part as he worked.

He had to take several breaks, jaw aching, but after what felt like an eternity he felt one rope part and fall away. Eagerly, he wriggled his wrists, unwinding the rope, but it fell loose long before his wrists were free.

His heart clenched. There were two ropes, and he'd only managed to gnaw through one of them. He groaned aloud, then forced himself to start in on the second rope.

Finally, he heard the sound of the rope fraying and pulling free, and he let out a triumphant shout as the last rope fell from his wrists, revealing their ragged condition to the cool air. He could not see the extent of the damage to his wrists, but they stung badly as he tried to restore circulation to all of his fingers.

As soon as he could move all of his fingers tolerably well, he again tried to undo the rope about his ankles. It was difficult to work with, since he could not see the ropes and his fingers were already bloody from previous attempts at the rope, but he continued to worry the knots, and slowly, very slowly, he felt them begin to loosen. He smiled, thinking of the expression on Malfoy's face when Harry caught up with him.

When the ropes frayed and he attempted to stand, the still-tingling appendages would not support him, and he fell sideways—right though what he thought had been the very solid back of the cupboard. He didn't even have a chance to cry out as he smashed through what had suddenly become brittle wood.

He landed hard on his side, a cloud of thick dust billowing out around him, and spent several minutes just trying to cough the thick grime back out of his lungs. It took several heavy coughing fits, but finally he was able to breathe again and try to look around in the inky darkness.

"I wish I had a light," he muttered to himself, uncomfortable in the darkness. He wouldn't be able to see anything at all before being attacked, and he couldn't walk around without worrying that he'd stumble into a pit or something. "Lumos wou—"

He stopped in surprise, looking down at the soft light that suddenly blossomed near his right hand, as if emanating from his fingertips. He raised the hand up, staring in surprise at the light and wondering just what it meant to be able to cast _Lumos _without his wand.

He looked up, planning to look around the room for a way out, and yelped. He was looking straight into the eyes of a basilisk.

For a few moments, Harry sat still, frozen in shock, until he suddenly realized that he was very much alive—and that the snake was a lifelike replica made out of stone and jewels. He stood up slowly, keeping his lighted hand ahead of him, and turned around, surveying the rest of the room. He could see shelves all along the walls, covered in dust and cobwebs, and near the far end was what looked like an abandoned potions laboratory. Glass phials and flasks stood half-filled, and several upturned cauldrons sat along one side of the main table.

Everything had an air of darkness to it, Harry felt. The room was quiet and felt old, very old. The sounds of his footsteps as he walked forward carefully did not echo, as if everything was muffled by the darkness.

It wasn't until he reached the first large bookcase that he realized just what this place was—engraved on many of the shelves was the name '_Salazar Slytherin.'_

"How many secret places did this guy have?" Harry wondered aloud, brushing the dust off of the spines of the books with the tips of his fingers. "Darke Times and Darke Measures," he read, perusing the titles. "Bloodlines…Fortresses of the Darke…"

He paused and slowly tugged the last book free, reminded very strongly of his 'visions,' of the mysterious castle. The pages were brittle and yellowed, but Harry turned them carefully, frowning at the faded and very foreign script riddles with sometimes completely illegible words.

By the fifth or sixth faded out page, Harry was ready to put the book back and look for a way out of the room. His neck was aching from the constrictus spell, and his feet and hands felt oddly numbed still.

When he went to replace the book on the shelf, though, it slipped from his still-clumsy fingers and dropped to the ground. "Bloody…" he started to curse, then stopped, staring in surprise at the page the book had opened to. When he had reached to pick up the book, his still-lit fingers had illuminated the pages clearly. "Boody _hell,_" he finished, grabbing the book up and searching the room once more. He found the door quickly, and it only took turning the knob to open it and escape.

He turned back in order to mark the door in his mind, but as soon as it clicked shut it melted back into the stones, entirely invisible. Still, he thought to himself, he had the book he needed, and he had to get to Dumbledore.

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"HARRY!"

He stopped in surprise at the shouted name, standing in the door of Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle had already been moved back and the staircase in place, so he hadn't paused in his sprint up to the headmaster.

He looked around at the worried faces all trained on him—Remus, Ron, Hermione, McGonagall—and wondered what had happened. "Is there—" he started to ask, then stopped.

Suddenly, he realized that everyone looked worried because of _him. _He'd been gone hours, had missed several classes, and probably looked a mess. They hadn't been able to locate him because of the cupboard being under that mislocator spell Malfoy had mentioned, and probably Slytherin's workshop was well guarded too.

"I'm all right," he said instead, walking the rest of the way into the room. "I found something."

"WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN!" Hermione almost shouted, looking frantic. Harry blinked.

"Er—that doesn't matter too much," he said distractedly, wanting to talk about the book. He put it down on Dumbledore's desk, opening it again to the picture he'd seen. "This is it," he said.

"Harry, perhaps you should tell us—"

"This is the castle that I keep seeing in my visions," he interrupted, wanting to get his point across quickly. "This is it. Voldemort's trying to get into it because he's dreaming about it too."

"Where did you find this book?"

Harry turned, not even feeling any anger at Snape for the moment. "I…stumbled… across it," he said, smiling at his own little joke. "It was on a bookshelf, and I thought it was useless until I saw this."

"The Fortress Nocturnus," Dumbledore read softly. "I had assumed it a myth…"

"Well, I keep seeing it," Harry assured the old man. "Except it doesn't have those flags, and the stones look a lot older," he added, scrutinizing the faded picture a little more. "I couldn't read the writing," he added. "It's some foreign language and really faded."

"A simple spell would—" Snape started to say.

"Someone borrowed it," he cut in curtly. "I have to…reclaim it still."

"You _gave _someone—"

"Shut up!" Harry shouted, frustrated.

"Twenty points from—!"

"I think that's enough," Dumbledore said mildly. "Before we even look at this text any further, Harry, I want to know where you've been. We've been searching the grounds for hours, and Severus was waiting to hear from any Death Eaters about if you'd been kidnapped right out of Hogwarts."

Harry sighed. "I was ambushed, and then someone else grabbed my wand so I couldn't defend myself. They tied me up and left me in a cupboard, I broke loose and then fell through a wall into this old room. It was Slytherin's," he added. "The book was on a shelf in there."

"Could you find this room again?" Dumbledore asked.

"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I was groggy when I was taken down to the cupboard, and the door of the workroom disappear into the stones when I left it."

"Who attacked you?" Remus asked, sounding protective.

Harry shook his head, turning back to the book. He needed to know what he was dreaming about and what he should be doing. "Can you read it, professor?" he asked Dumbledore. "I need to know what's going on."

"I will look into it," Dumbledore promised. "Give me a day," he asked. Harry agreed reluctantly, giving up the book and stepping back.

"I'm sorry you were worried like that," he apologized. Hermione shook her head.

"I'm sorry I yelled," she said. "But you've got blood on your hands and a big bruise around your neck, and you're covered in cobwebs and cuts…"

Harry looked down at himself, and realized she was right. "Yeah…" he said, suddenly feeling dizzy. It was as if Hermione's assessment of his injuries suddenly made them more real, and he was almost instantly aware of how much his body ached. "I think the adrenaline is wearing off…"

Ron held him up as he started to wobble slightly, suddenly much more weary and exhausted then he had been. He was about to let Ron just lead him out of the office when he remembered something very important. He stopped, turning back slightly.

"Professor, how common is wandless magic?" he asked. Dumbledore looked up sharply.

"It's extremely rare," Dumbledore finally said, seeming to understand more than he let on. "Very few develop the ability to do more than a few simple spells."

"But you can do wandless magic, right?" Harry pressed. Dumbledore nodded.

"To some extent," he answered vaguely. Harry nodded, thinking.

"Thanks," he said, then let Ron lead him and Hermione fuss over him all the way to the infirmary, where she took over fussing and tutting over his battered state.

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Obviously, Harry thought wryly, no one but Malfoy knew about the attempted kidnapping. Crabbe and Goyle looked perplexed as he walked up to Malfoy's back, and Harry savored the moment of surprise in Malfoy's silver eyes when Harry greeted his enemy jovially.

Malfoy only had a moment to turn around so that Harry could really relish that surprised expression before Harry's right fist knocked him backwards, clutching his broken nose. Without another word, Harry walked away, sauntering back over to the Gryffindor table in order to finish his Saturday lunch.

He ignored Ron's confused expression, Hermione's frustrated frown, and everyone else's shocked faces and instead focused on eating the sandwich he'd carefully put together. He couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth, nor could he help but listen to the angry shouts coming from the Slytherin table and choke on his laughter. He just wished he could imprint the memory of Malfoy's surprised expression on his mind for all time.

"What was that about?" Ron finally asked, still looking confused. Hermione glowered at the Slytherin table, where Malfoy sat pinching his nose carefully, and Harry realized she wasn't upset at him at all.

"Don't you see?" Hermione demanded. "_He's _the one that attacked Harry."

Ron blinked, his expression melting into a smile. "Bet he didn't see _that _coming," he commented. Harry looked up with a smirk.

"I'm going to remember that moment for a long time," he said. "I've never seen anyone look so surprise."

He set his sandwich down then, as he saw Julie Thomas coming into the hall. "One more thing," he said, standing up and moving to intercept her. Her friends squealed as he came up, face set with anger, and Julie turned towards him, eyes full of fear.

"H-Harry," she squeaked. He held his hand out imperiously.

"Wand."

"I—I"

"Wand!" he demanded, stepping closer. Her hand dipped into her pocket and pulled his wand out. He grabbed it from her, examining it for any damages, then glanced over at the Slytherin table. "Get a look at Malfoy," he advised. "If you weren't a girl and younger than me…" he warned her.

She nodded. "I—I'm sorry," she said.

"You'dve been a lot more sorry if Malfoy's father had taken me to Voldemort," he said sharply. "You could have been responsible for the deaths of a lot of people."

"I—please…"

"Stay away from me, Julie," he snapped at her, then turned and walked away. He could almost feel her sorrowful eyes on him as he went back to his lunch, but he didn't look up. She'd betrayed him, helped _Malfoy _of all people, and she expected him to listen to her apologies. It was ridiculous, and he wasn't going to spend his time trying to understand why she did it when he had loyal and trustworthy friends already.

Which reminded him, he remembered. He had yet to tell Ron and Hermione about the wandless _Lumos _he had performed in Salazar Slytherin's workroom. That, he decided, would be something to save for Christmas break, when he had a better idea of just what it meant. He didn't have time now to tell them properly, anyway, he told himself.

And besides, Dumbledore had sent him a note at breakfast telling him that he had deciphered the worn out book. He'd asked that Harry meet him at two, and he planned to be there on time and without the worries of _Julie _on his mind.

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**A/N:** Yeah, okay, kinda short, I understand, but I did have two exams this week, both of which were long and difficult. The next chapter will be longer, I think, because it's full of explanations and the last quidditch match of the season. Yeah, Slytherin Vs. Gryffindor. Should be very interesting, if I can find it in myself to write an original quidditch match. A lot of action is coming up soon, and a lot of developments in Harry's abilities and the mystery of the 'Fortress.' Comments will be after that chapter; I just wanted to get this one up for you.


	31. Explanations and New Questions

**Disclaimer: **See any other chapter.

**A/N:** It took a while to get the information out that I wanted without giving too much away. Hope it works, and please R&R. Thanks, Miss Laine

00000000000 **Chapter**** 31: Explanations and New Questions** 000000000000

The gargoyle swept aside for Harry without a word, and he took the stairs two at a time, eager to hear what Dumbledore had unearthed. The old man did not answer his knocking, though, and Harry pushed open the door impatiently.

He was surprised to see Dumbledore sitting at his desk, eyes trained on the book in his hands. "Sir?" Harry asked, wondering what was wrong.

Dumbledore looked up slowly, then blinked. "Harry…I had forgotten," the wizard admitted, then smiled wearily. "Please, take a seat."

Harry did so, feeling off balance because of the old man's odd behavior. "What's wrong?" he finally asked. "Was there an attack?"

"No, no," Dumbledore said, finally setting down the book somewhere in his desk. "Nothing like that, my boy…would you care for a lemon drop?"

Harry shook his head. "I'd like to know what that castle is," he said. Dumbledore nodded slowly, as if thinking hard.

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said softly. "I am afraid I do not have all the answers you may seek, Harry."

"But—" Harry started to object, frustrated. Dumbledore held up a hand to silence him.

"That does not mean I have nothing to give you," Dumbledore assured him. "That castle…fortress, rather…is something of which I know little. The book that you gave to me…I think I understand now just what you have been seeing in these visions."

Harry leaned forward a little. "And?"

"It is called Fortress Nocturnus, though most often it is just called the 'Dark Fortress,'" Dumbledore explained. "It was supposedly built sometime during the last millennium…I say supposedly because, up until now, no one at all believed that it really existed."

"Why not?" Harry pressed.

"Fortress Nocturnus was supposed to have been built by the four founders of Hogwarts—although some seem to feel that only Slytherin and Gryffindor were involved. No one knows for certain, and, up until I read this book, I'd went along with the assumption that the 'fortress' was never built."

"Why do people think it wasn't built?" Harry asked.

"It had been assumed it was never really built because all accounts of the four's lives mention nothing of any sort of fortress. No one felt they had time to build any such fortress, especially since they then built this castle."

"But they did build it," Harry said. "I've seen it."

"That you have…because you are related to at least two of the founders," Dumbledore explained. Harry sighed.

"Godric and Salazar, I suppose," he said. Dumbledore smiled.

"Possibly, Harry," the aged wizard told him. "Indeed, both your mother and father passed on to you some of the founder's blood lines."

"So I'm related to at least one evil wizard and one good wizard," Harry said flatly. "Does that even out or something?" he asked humorlessly. Dumbledore sighed.

"Following bloodlines is very difficult, Harry, and you will find that most witches and wizards can trace themselves back to some great witch or wizard. There are certainly dozens out there that can trace their roots back to Merlin, for example, and there are numerous witches and wizards that have at least some little part of a founder's blood line in them," Dumbledore explained.

"Bloody great," Harry muttered. He just _had _to have one more weird thing happen to him. He couldn't have just one little thing normal about him. That would make too much sense.

"This book gives a few hints as to where this…fortress…is located, but it will take time to research all of these leads," Dumbledore broke into his thoughts gently. Harry looked up.

"Where?" he asked.

"Somewhere in France, it seems," Dumbledore said. "Possibly near the border with Spain. It may have been the four's first attempts at a magical school that failed, or it may have been something entirely different. It may possibly be in Germany as well."

"Possibly? That's it?" Harry asked, frustrated with the lack of information. Dumbledore sighed, holding the book out for Harry to take back.

"I've darkened the writing and made it clearer, as well as translating the majority of it, so that you'll be able to read it. If you find anything useful in it, tell me," Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded, thinking to himself that it was ironic that the tables were now turned on the old headmaster.

Harry was the one with the information this time, or at least a possible source of information, and Dumbledore was the one seeking answers. "It was on the coast," he offered finally, remember his first 'dream' of the castle. "It was on the sea."

Dumbledore nodded, though he didn't look any less pensive. "That suggest France, but still leaves a lot of coastline to be searched," Dumbledore admitted. "And I do not have very many Order members to spare."

Harry understood quite clearly what Dumbledore was telling him—he did not have the resources nor the ability to search an entire coastline for a fortress that might or might not exist. Assuming that wards were not keeping it out of sight, of course. "I'll read the book," he said aloud. "Thanks for looking into it, too."

He stood to go, but turned back as Dumbledore cleared his throat. "There is the matter of Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore began.

"Are you going to punish me for hitting him?" Harry asked levelly. Dumbledore sighed.

"Firstly…Malfoy had been granted the chance to fly in the next quidditch match…against Gryffindor."

Harry knew Dumbledore was gauging his reaction, and tried to keep his emotions in check. On one side, he was excited that he'd have the chance to embarrass Malfoy, and on the other he was angry that the other teen ever got to fly again, period.

Instead of answering, he nodded. "Are you punishing me?" he asked again.

Dumbledore sighed again, leaning back in his chair. "I should—I am expected to—but I won't. I can't bring myself to punish you for something that he did, this time, seem to deserve. I would ask that you _try _to bring all concerns up with me, though. In these times it is important to practice a little…decorum."

Harry caught the look Dumbledore was giving him and nodded, angry still but trying to see things the old man's way. "I'll try," he promised. "He should have been expelled long ago, though."

"Many wish for things that they will never get, nor that they really want," Dumbledore said softly, looking as if he were thinking about something else, and then blinked and smiled. "Off with you now, my boy. I'm sure you have plenty of homework to be doing this fine afternoon.

Harry nodded. "Goodbye, sir," he said, then slipped out the door and down the stairs, eager to read the book he held tightly clutched in his right hand.

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_It is often suggested that Gryffindor mainly lived as a wandering wizard, doing good deeds in the towns that he traveled through, but it has been suggested by many scholars that Godric may have in fact had his own fortress, built sometime before his part in the founding of Hogwarts castle. Strange discrepancies in dates and in events make it difficult to know exactly where this great wizard was at every point in his life, and few agree on just how long it would have taken the man to build anything of any size and power._

_Remnants of building plans and rumors from old witches are the only evidence that still remains concerning the fabled 'Fortress Nocturnus,' and these sources are highly suspect. In my own opinion, the idea that Godric, alone, had the time and the power to build his own fortress is not unreasonable—he was a wizard renowned for his seemingly limitless power and talent, and to assume that he could not build something so grand is to assume blindly._

_That is not to say that it isn't possible that he received help in the form of other founders—namely Salazar Slytherin, his supposed 'hated friend.' Whether he did or did not actually receive any aid in building this fortress is still very much open to debate. _

Harry wasn't sure if the passage was really of much use—obviously, the guy that wrote it was several generations removed from the Four Founder's time, it seemed, and he didn't know if anything had been lost in the translation to modern English.

He sighed, looking up from the book and around at the empty common room. Ron and Hermione were probably in Hogsmeade, but Harry couldn't find the energy to go after them, even if he was willing to butt into their 'romantic' weekend in order to tell them about the book.

A pang of loneliness surprised him, and he quashed it by pulling out his potions homework and burying himself in the admittedly boring essay on 'Ethical Issues Involving the Use of Veritaserum.' Snape had demanded over three feet on the subject, and he was having trouble coming up with more than six inches.

He sighed, resigned to the fact that he'd have to visit the library, and wondered idly just when had his life become so…well, he wasn't sure what it was. It certainly couldn't be described as 'fun' anymore.

He flipped the book open idly, putting off his library trip a moment longer, and his eyes trailed down the page he had opened to:

_Darest__ thou enter the forest green?_

_Darest__ thou challenge the darkened gates?_

_Seek thee not the power here_

_That some do want and others fear._

_Child, hath thou suffered enough,_

_At those the hands of frightening fate?_

_Or__ dost thou wish to seek revenge and death,_

_And__ listen to thine enemy's dying breath?_

_Ill will and anger break thee softly,_

_Tendrils threading thine stone-turned heart._

_Shalt__ thou forget to live and thus die,_

_Somewhere under that burning sky?_

Harry shuddered and did not finish the poem, glad that it had probably lost some of its morbid edge in translation. Something felt very familiar and yet very wrong about the whole thing, and he closed the book with a snap and took it back to his dorm room, hiding at the bottom of his trunk. He'd look at it again later, he told himself.

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By the time Hermione and Ron came back from Hogsmeade, her giggling in an alarmingly un-Hermione-ishly way, Harry had finished the Potions essay and had made a large dent into the Transfiguration essay due later the next week. Ron looked somehow betrayed at his progress, and Hermione smiled proudly.

"This is a one time thing," he warned her, putting away the half-finished essay. "It's just because I didn't feel like going anywhere."

Hermione flopped down next to him, while Ron reluctantly retrieved his own texts. "Still," she said. "At least you're getting something done."

He rolled his eyes silently and shoved his books away from himself. "I'm going to go send a letter to Remus," he told her. "Make Ron get some homework done."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded, not looking back.

"Sure. I'm fine," he promised. "I'll be back in ten."

"All right," Hermione agreed slowly, and Harry strode out of the common room and down the hallway.

At first, he did plan to go up to the owlery, though he had no letters to deliver. He hadn't seen Hedwig the entire week, and he was interested to know how she was. What he really wanted to do, though, was slip into the Room of Requirement and work on his Animagus transformation. He seemed to be stuck at the leg and arm stage, unable to make the transformation spread to his body and head, and Remus had been unable to provide any insight.

Hermione and Ron were still several weeks behind him at best, and Neville was just beginning to see some changes in his skin texture. Ginny wasn't much better, though Harry was pretty sure that she wasn't having to _imagine _that something had changed, like Neville usually was. It wasn't that he didn't have any faith in the other teen—it was that Neville had no faith in himself to actually make the spell work. Hopefully, Neville would figure it out before too long.

Harry was drawn out of his thoughts by the sounds of bootsteps, and he purposely did not hesitate as he went past the Room of Requirement's door and kept on walking. He definitely didn't want anyone to see him slipping into the somewhat secret room, and especially if he didn't know just who it was.

"Wandering aimlessly, are you?" the person finally called.

Harry turned. "Professor Murkwater," he said by way of greeting. "I was just headed—"

"Hmm, yes, 'you were just,'" the man said with a very knowing smile. "You've been doing well in class," the man said, changing the subject the instant Harry opened his mouth to answer. "Although you seem to be unable to do any offensive magic without your wand."

Harry nodded. "Even the shields are still shaky sometimes," he admitted. Murkwater eyed him, as if measuring him for some certain purpose.

"You'll get it soon," the man said. Harry nodded.

"I hope so, sir," he said. The man sighed, as if he had not seen what he wanted.

"You don't have much ambition, do you, Potter?" the man asked suddenly. Harry blinked.

"Ambition?" he echoed. I have to kill Voldemort, he thought to himself. That's enough ambition for a lifetime. Aloud, he said, "I guess not."

Murkwater smiled, winking at Harry in a conspiratory fashion. "At least you've got some brains," he said. "Won't last long anywhere without those."

Harry wanted to edge away, but forced himself to stand still. Murkwater's wildly changing personalities made him nervous, and he wasn't sure just what the man was about. "Look—I need to get going, sir," he finally said, keeping his voice even and pretending this very strange professor didn't bother him. "I'm supposed to be meeting my friends to study."

The man nodded and waved him away. "Off with you, Potter. Just—keep your eyes open."

Harry nodded, reminded of Mad-eye Moody for a moment, and turned to leave. He kept his attention on Murkwater as he walked away, listening attentively as the man walked away. Now, he didn't have enough time to even practice his form once before he went back to the dorm. If he was even five minutes late, he was sure Hermione and Ron would be upset.

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_If it wasn't for the old wife's tales and the rumors that spread through the villages, it is doubtful that anyone would believe any of it. There's no doubt that Gryffindor had help. He had to have had it, to have built something so complex and so terrible. It is his great folly, his only mistake._

_He should never had done it, but he was confident, too confident, in his power. He thought he could make something that was only good. He thought he could make something that only those of pure intention could wield. _

_He was wrong._

_And now__, supposedly, he's hidden it away. So no one at all can use it. No one will be able to get into it and use the power, be it for light or for dark. He's shut it way, guarded it with only he knows what, and it will never be opened again._

_Supposedly, he hid it from Slytherin and even Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. He hid it from them all, and, perhaps, even himself. And then, together, they created a lesser castle. A castle meant as a school, not a fortress._

_Although…some still see it. Something must have been wrong with his spells. Even the peasants, those with and without magic, sometimes catch glimpses of it. They write stories about it…tales to tell their children at night. _

_Are any of the rumors true? Is any of it true? Godric knows._

_But__ he will not tell._

Harry dropped the book in surprise when the dorm door burst open loudly. Seamus and Dean came in, laughingly loudly about something, and only glanced at him a moment before Seamus picked up some magazines and they both went back out.

Carefully, he picked up the old book, frowning at the worsening crack in the spine, and slipped it back in with his other books. Mostly, the text was filled with references to some castle, but never did it actually _mention _just where the thing was supposed to have been located. He needed to do a lot more research in order to figure this out, and he resigned himself to long hours in the library.

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"_Lumos_" he hissed quietly to his fingers, glaring at them as if that would convince them to give in and light for him.

But nothing happened, just as nothing had happened the million other tries, in the moments he had alone between classes and when he could slip away for a few minutes at a time. It was too suspicious to disappear for more than fifteen or twenty minutes, and he was loathe to tell his friends something that might just be a fluke. Perhaps, he was inclined to think, it had been just a random burst of magic that had actually worked for him. His head felt that this made sense, but his heart did not.

The magic in him had obeyed him, had expressed itself when he needed it.

Perhaps, he supposed to himself as he headed back toward Gryffindor, he just needed it to be an emergency. Maybe, he thought, the magic only worked wandlessly when he really, really needed it to, and now it could somehow sense that he didn't really need any help.

"Harry!" Hermione called, grinning. She was holding Ron's hand, he noticed, and he got the distinct impression that they'd taken the few minutes without him to snog each other senseless. "There you are!"

"Yeah, here I am," he responded, grinning half-heartedly. Hermione didn't noticed his lack of enthusiasm, instead grabbing his hand.

"Come on," she said, tugging him along. "We're headed to dinner."

Harry let his friends pull him along, although his mind slipped back again to the mysterious problem of his wandless or not so wandless magic.

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It was a sunny day, perfect for Quidditch. And yet…he couldn't help but feel as if something dark, some dirtied shadow, was hovering just near the edge of the earth. Something was poised…but he forced himself to ignore the gloomy feeling, expecting that most of the feeling was caused by the old book, which certainly had a dreary and death-oriented theme.

Instead of thinking about it, he reveled in the feeling of the warm spring breeze ruffling past his face and did a couple of loops before settling down again to look for the snitch.

The match was fairly even—Slytherin had scored four times, but Gryffindor had five goals now. Both teams knew that the snitch would decide the match, and Harry was doing his best to spot the elusive thing.

Malfoy was on the other end of the pitch right now, circling in his own pattern. The other teen had a better broom, but Harry knew that his flying skills were better. He knew for a fact that he practiced more than the other teen, and hopefully that would make up for the disparity in their brooms.

Especially since he was quite eager to put Malfoy in his place…preferably six feet under the ground.

The game was into its second hour already, Harry mused, and he hadn't seen the Snitch even once. It was like it had vaporized, but he had the feeling that perhaps it had just hiding itself rather well somewhere on the pitch and was not moving.

"Getting bored?" he heard a lazy, sour voice drawl.

"Malfoy," he said flatly. "Still remember which end of the broom is the front?"

"You're not going to win today, Potter," Malfoy said, ignoring Harry almost completely.

"That's funny," Harry said, keeping his eyes trained on the skies around him, scanning for the snitch. "You say that every year, every match, and yet you _never _win."

He heard Malfoy growl angrily but didn't take his eyes from the pitch. He thought for a moment he'd seen something in the corner, and he was watching alertly for any other signs of the snitch. "You aren't going to catch it, Potter," Malfoy said. Harry almost jumped—Malfoy sounded closer now, behind him somewhere.

His surprise was forgotten in an instant, though, when he again saw a flash of gold. The snitch had taken to circling the supports of the stands behind the Gryffindor goals, and was moving slowly so as not to reflect much light. It was hard to see, but Harry kept his eyes on it alone, tuning out Malfoy while he tried to figure out the best approach to catching the snitch.

He decided quickly, and he whipped his head around as if he'd seen something. An instant later he was in a dive, headed almost straight at the ground. He could hear the crowds gasping but it did not even register fully as he watched the ground, measuring, calculating, listening to Malfoy catch up to him. Malfoy drew alongside, and Harry steeped his dive to vertical. Malfoy followed suite—and then suddenly pulled up. Harry smiled grimly. It was what he expected—for Malfoy to think he hadn't seen a thing and stop and wait for him to go out of his feint and return to searching for the snitch.

But at the last moment, perhaps six feet above the pitch, he jerked sharply on the handle of his broom while rolling sharply, and he was wrenched almost painfully around, so that he was flying back towards the snitch. The incredible force behind the move made his neck and shoulders creak with the strain, but then he was leveled out again—and moving at probably twice the Firebolt's normal maximum speed. He was whizzing about ten feet above the ground now, a red blur with an even more blurred shadow, and he only barely noticed as he shot beneath the level of play.

He was at the goals at an instant and past them, still moving incredibly fast, but he knew without a doubt that by now Malfoy was after him, knowing exactly what he was doing. Hopefully, the little time he'd bought would be enough.

He stayed tight against his broom, eyes squinting through the wind tearing at his face, and locked onto the snitch, which was still innocently fluttering about, lost in its own little world.

A second more and he would be there…and the snitch 'saw' him and shot straight upwards, zooming vertical at an incredible speed.

But Harry was moving fast, faster than he'd ever flown in his life, and he jerked up sharply on his broom, doing a sharp loop before relaxing it to head straight up into the sky. He was closing on the snitch, closer, closer, until he was six, five, four feet…and then Malfoy was beside him, having cut the corners to catch up. But Malfoy wasn't even close to being fast enough.

Harry lunged forward, wrapping his fingers around the snitch with one hand while he tried to hold onto his broom. He smiled back at Malfoy, knowing that it probably looked much more like a sneer.

"HE'S GOT IT! POTTER'S CAUGHT THE SNTICH!" he heard the announcer…Colin Creevey, he thought it was…shouting out excitedly. "Gryffindor wins the Quidditch Cup!" Harry smiled, satisfied. The perfect way to end his sixth year of playing the sport…Quidditch Champions, finally.

He felt rather than heard Malfoy catching up to him as he continued to fly almost straight upwards, reveling in the soaring feeling while he clutched the snitch in his hand. He thought he heard Malfoy say something and turned.

There was a scream from the stands.

"Potter!" Malfoy was shouting, pointing over Harry's right shoulder. "Merlin, Potter! Look out!" Harry whipped around much too late.

He was too surprised to resist, and even as he was roughly slammed by something dark and heavy, he said nothing. Fire burned down his chest as the something buried claws in his torso.

A fraction of a second later, he was jerked straight off his broom, and without a single shout or cry he fell like a stone, straight towards the ground. As he fell, he could only watch Malfoy's face, looking down in frozen horror.

Finally, he found his voice and swallowed sharply, the wind tearing all words from his mouth. The snitch seemed to sense their final destination and fluttered madly in his hand. He didn't scream, trying to stay as calm as a person falling to their death could, while fumbling with his free hand for his wand. It was tangled in his wildly-flapping robes, but he finally managed to pull it free.

He rolled so that he was facing the ground—but it was too late. "Wingardium Leviosum!" he shouted. The spell tried to act, tried to catch him in his fall, but it only slowed him a fraction before he slammed into the turf. He knew no more.

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He touched the cold stone with one hand, knowing that the stones were certainly very thick. He shivered with cold, only now noticing that he was in the middle of a terrible storm, the world lit up only by lightening and a fire that blazed despite the rain.

The stones hummed with magic, almost. They were testing him…searching him, trying to figure out just _what _he wanted. Would they let him in? Would they accept him?

He didn't know.

A scream…he turned and saw a half dozen teenagers below him at the base of the hill, wands drawn and fighting for their lives. One lay on the ground, unmoving. Bright red was splashed across their left leg, and he could only hope that they were not dead.

_Bow to death, Harry…_

He turned. Tom stood just beside him, smiling down at him with cold hatred. "Bow to death, Harry."

He pushed on the stones, begging them as best he could to _let him in._ But there was no chance for him. He stood there, drenched in rain, looking up into the face of his enemy…the face of the monster that wanted nothing more than to kill him.

A spidery hand suddenly gripped him, tightening like a vise around his neck. He gagged, struggling as burning fire ripped through his skull. He couldn't fight it. The fire was burning him up, he was dying…

"Give me the Key, boy," Tom hissed into his ear. Harry did his best to grit his teeth and shake his head. Spots danced in front of his eyes.

Lightening fairly slammed into the ground no more than one hundred feet away from them, but Tom did not act as if he were shocked in any way—Harry was no longer in contact with the ground, held up by the hand slowly hanging him.

His leg was twitching on its own now, feebly attempting a struggle against this slow death, but Harry's mind felt suddenly clear. In an instant, the world seemed to somehow snap into focus, and he could see…really _see._

Tom dropped him with a hissed cry, drawing back his smoking hand, and Harry hacked and drew in air until he could stand again. He tried to speak, but words would not come to him, and so instead he stepped forward, only to stop as he heard a cry.

There was someone lying on the ground, her hair matted with mud. He thought she was unconscious…but instead her eyes were open, staring up at the rain. Water had filled them, dripping down her cheeks. She was crying…

No…he was crying now.

She was dead.

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**W**hen he awoke, it was with agonizing suddenness. His body was on fire, he was in agonizing pain…the world was drifting in and out wildly…and yet the snitch still fluttered in his mangled hand. His glasses were crushed against his face, the glass splintered but amazingly cutting everywhere but his eyeballs.

Blood streamed down his face, blurring his vision even more, but he could see that his arm was not at the right angle any more—and it hurt to breathe. Each time he tried to draw in a breath a sharp blast of agony shot through him, over and over. He could hear screaming, girls, women, boys, professors…but it all seemed very distant.

Suddenly, he felt a rolling feeling in his body and he coughed hard, vaguely worried at the copious amount of blood that he hacked onto the field. Blood dribbled down his chin, dribbled down from his lips in thick, hot, streams.

He wondered that he was even alive—but perhaps his latent defensive magic had kicked in as best it could, trying to keep the important bits of him protected in the fall. Otherwise, his head should have been squashed flat by now.

So much for wandless magic when he needed it, he thought weakly.

He was still worried about his back and lungs, though. No one should be coughing up blood like he was. It was painful and burning, but that wasn't the worst of his worries. What worried him most was that he couldn't seem to even being to feel his legs. It was like they were gone…was this what being paralyzed felt like, he wondered?

The screaming seemed to have stopped, and he saw feet approaching at a run. They looked like a professor's feet, but he wasn't sure who. He decided in a rather lucid moment of ironic thought that perhaps, after this was over, if this got over, he'd have to memorize what shoes each of his professors wore, just in case the need arose to recognize them by their feet.

There was a hand on his shoulder, and he felt a tingle as a spell scurried down his spine. He could feel his legs suddenly, and they felt almost as if they'd been half-severed from his body. He decided he liked it better when he couldn't feel them, but perhaps, he hoped, in the long run this would be better.

He tried not to scream as the hands rolled him onto his back, a pair cradling his head while the other straightened out his limbs all around him. His arms were both broken, he decided, as were his legs, probably in numerous places. On his back now, the blood on his face was pooling towards his eyes and he blinked again and again, trying to get it out.

"Don't do that, Harry," he heard Dumbledore say. "You make it bleed worse."

Harry had a great sarcastic reply at the ready, but when he went to say it, it came out as a painful groan accompanied by another mouthful of deep red blood. He was dizzy again, from blood loss he diagnosed, and he wondered just how much he could lose before dying. "We're going to have to treat you right here, Harry," he heard McGonagall's voice next. He twitched his head a little to let her know that he'd heard. Great, he thought. He got to lie on this stupid square of ground for hours while they worked to patch him back together.

"Someone get Malfoy!" he heard someone shout from far off.

Something odd was going on with Malfoy, Harry thought fuzzily. The teen had been _warning him. _Why Malfoy would warn him, he didn't know, and it wasn't like the warning had done much good. He'd just had enough time to turn to face his attacker before he'd been ripped from his broom. No time to defend himself. No time to escape.

He had to talk to Malfoy. He had to corner him somewhere where Malfoy wouldn't be putting on his usual act, and he _had _to find out why the teen had warned him. It just didn't…fit…with anything. It didn't make sense!

He had to give up thinking about that, though, as the pain made his mind almost foggy, and he could barely string two words together in his mind before losing the thought to his half-conscious brain.

He saw Madame Pomfrey now, kneeling down beside him, and then there was a tingling and his ribs started to feel better—until he coughed sharply and it all came apart in burning agony. He let out a whimper through the blood in his throat, and then tried to struggle as strong hands clamped down on his mouth and nose. He was suffocating, he couldn't breathe…

"Harry." It was Remus, and he managed to vaguely recall that Remus had been at the match. "You can't tear apart the healing tissue by coughing. You have to let her heal it."

Yeah, right, Harry thought to himself sarcastically, even as he felt the healing in his ribs once more. Spots were starting to dance in front of his blood-filing eyes, and his shoulder twitched as the only slightly-uninjured part of his body tried to put up some sort of resistance to death by suffocation.

His lungs were on fire again with a new sort of pain—the burning pain of too much carbon dioxide and not enough oxygen. He was dying, dying, burning in pain and primal panic, but the hands were tight, fingers brutally pinching his nose shut while the other pressed his head into the ground as they kept his mouth shout. "Only a little longer, Harry," he heard Dumbledore say. "Just hold on a little bit longer."

Harry wanted to tell Dumbledore that next time the old man could hold his breath until Pomfrey turned blue, but the spots in front of his eyes were getting worse. He felt like he was floating now, beyond pain, beyond worry, and he relaxed. "Stay awake, Harry," Remus pleaded with him. Harry smiled as best he could under the painful hand.

Remus was staring down at him with worry-filled brown eyes, and all could think was that it was ironic that the last thing he would ever see was the face of the only remaining link to his parents. He had to wonder, though—where the hell had the prophecy gone wrong? Surely he couldn't die _now._ It was ridiculous. Tom Riddle was the one that was supposed to kill him, not some bloody Quidditch accident.

And bloody was right.

Red had filled his left eye now—he couldn't see a thing out of it—and his right seemed to be having trouble seeing a face just a few feet from it. He blinked very slowly, once, twice. "Stay awake, Harry," Remus begged again, hands not relenting on his nose and mouth. "You're a Gryffindor, Harry. Just be brave and hold on a bit longer, please."

Harry wanted to laugh. He was in no pain at all…everything was fine. He did not need bravery to face this. It was pleasant, almost fun. It did not bother him to die now, because it would be good. Just more floating and relaxing, like he was now. For a moment he thought if he could answer he would tell Remus that Gryffindor didn't mean a damn thing…it was all stupid, all of it…but the thought fled his mind in an instant.

He had much more pressing matters to attend to.

Black was clouding out his vision…the burning was back, a fire in his lungs as the last ounces of his will to live fought back, struggled desperately…and then the pressure lifted. He gasped in a ragged breath—and halfway through the hands were back, keeping him from drawing in any more air. His vision started to clear…the hands lifted again, but were back before he'd even begun to draw in as much air as he needed. "You can't rupture the healing, Harry," Remus told him gently. "Only a little air at a time."

Harry now really just wanted to say 'Shut up, Remus,' but instead he just focused on the next release of the hands, taking in air as quickly as he could before it was cut off again.

The pain was worse now, but his vision was partially back in his right eye, the left still flooded with warm liquid. Again and again for what seemed like eternity, over and over he tried to suck in air…and then the hands began to let him breathe a little longer, a little more often, until he was breathing almost normally, the hands still making sure he did not draw in a full lungful even once.

There was a burning in his left arm and he twitched. "Pomfrey is healing it as best she can without potions," Remus explained. "Don't fight it, Harry."

A moment later there was a sharp jab of pain through his right arm, and he blacked out.

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She was dead. They'd killed her, he knew without a doubt. She was dead, dead, dead, deaddeaddeaddeaddead…

He knew he was panicking, something he could ill afford to do. But his eyes were riveted to her form, lying on the muddy grass as if she'd been tossed there. She was never going to wake again…

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He awoke, predictably, in the infirmary. He tried to count how many times he'd been in the infirmary just since classes had started, and gave up. He honestly couldn't remember. An instant after this thought passed out of his mind, he realized that he would have been much happier _not _waking up.

Snape was standing at the end of his bed, arms folded. "Potter," Snape stated. Harry rubbed his eyes with a hand and pushed himself up, ignoring the little jolts of pain in his body.

"Why are you here?" he demanded. "Where's Madame Pomfrey?"

"I am here because of my expertise, and Madame Pomfrey is sleeping because it is four in the morning," Snape said flatly. "You have been largely unconscious for the past twelve hours."

"Where is Malfoy?" he asked, suddenly remember his need to talk to the boy.

Snape eyed him. "In my office, though truly it is none of your business."

"What was that…thing?" Harry asked. Snape sneered.

"You don't know?"

"I only saw it a moment," Harry retorted defensively. "I didn't get a chance to see much more than the…whatevers it had."

Snape smirked. "You don't recognize a pseudo-wraith?" Snape asked him condescendingly. "How…pathetic. Surely you must have learned _something _in Defense Against the Dark Arts?"

"Yeah—something about fighting professors with Voldemort possessing them and almost being murdered by a death eater in disguise. I definitely remember learning that Crucio hurts a lot," Harry snapped back. "Yeah…I learned a lot."

"A pseudo-wraith has physical form, unlike a normal wraith," Snape said in a more level tone, as if unwilling to fight at four in the morning. "They are gifted with nullifying magic, which it did in order to rip you off your broom and keep your attempted levitation spell from working. They are…invisible…except in the few moments when they change to a more physical form…"

"How did it get onto Hogwart's grounds?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought wards…"

"Wards cannot protect against something that can nullify magic," Snape snapped at him, obviously irritable.

_Perhaps Snivellus needs a nap_, Harry thought mirthlessly. "So what—Tom sent it, right?"

"So it would seem."

"Why doesn't he just send lots of them?" Harry demanded. Snape looked almost bored.

"_Pseudo,_ Potter," the man said. "The Dark Lord created this…thing. It takes a great deal of talent and…hate…to create such a thing, and it only lasts long enough for one, supposedly fatal, attack."

"Then why am I alive?"

Black eyes glittered in the dark.

"Good question."

"But…"

"I have no answer for you, Mr. Potter."

Harry was stumped by that one, and so moved on to his next question.

"Why did Malfoy warn me?" he asked. "Just last week he tried to deliver me to his father."

"Mr. Malfoy has suffered a…change of heart…of late," Snape admitted, then stopped as if reluctant to talk about it.

"His father was upset about me getting away?" Harry asked. "I figure that would have made Malfoy hate me more."

"Draco never meant for you to be taken to his father," Snape told him suddenly. Harry looked up sharply, then back down. An idea was forming in his mind…

Perhaps Malfoy had turned long ago. Perhaps the whole 'abduction' had been an act of sorts, meant to lure Lucius into coming into Hogwarts so that the Order could capture him.

And it had gone wrong…

The idea seemed far-fetched to his mind, but in his heart he was starting to wonder. Just whom did Malfoy side with?

"So why was your 'expertise' needed?" Harry asked abruptly.

"The wraith and your fall were rather…serious injuries, Potter," the man spat. "Despite your own…defense…against the spelled creature, you were seriously injured. Surely you do not think simple healing charms would allow you to regain normal function?"

"So you've been force-feeding me potions," Harry summed up. "Great."

"If you'd rather go without them?" Snape asked. Harry stared at the dark eyed man.

"I would," he said flatly.

"Since you are no longer in danger of permanent damage, I don't care," Snape hissed. "Albus can find someone else to treat you."

"I don't need anyone," Harry said. "I'm fine. I feel fine," he added, though he knew it was a lie. He ached terribly, and he knew trying to walk would be hell. But he didn't need Snape's help.

"Have it your way, Potter," Snape spat, then swept out of the room. Harry stared after the closed door, then sighed and flopped back on the bed, falling into a restless and nightmare-filled sleep.

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A/N: HMM…something's up with Malfoy, it seems. Or perhaps not. You'll find out someday soon. Poor Harry's in the hospital wing again. I thought of doing a million different things to have some certain events occur, but this was what worked. And Harry'll live. He's tough.

Anyway, hope you like the longer than usual chapter and please tell me if you like what you're reading.

Miss laine


	32. Draco's Decision

Disclaimer: Don't own it, so don't sue.

A/N: I've been ridiculously busy with my first wave of tests a third of the way through the semester. I just finished one terrible wave of exams, and another comes up in April, and then finally it's over in May. So hang with me and I'll manage to finish this story perhaps.

000000000000000 Chapter 32: Draco's Decision 00000000000000

He was destined to have a sleepless night, it seemed. The dull pain of his injuries had grown to a chronic sort of ache that made it hurt to breathe, much less move. It felt like someone had opened him up and scrubbed his bones with steel wool while he slept, and the pain varied randomly no matter how still he stayed.

Perhaps, he thought idly, he should have just ignored Snape and taken the potions. Certainly, he'd be in a lot less pain.

But somehow the thought of giving in to the sour professor made him feel sick, as if it would be giving up much more than just that. And even now, he just couldn't do that.

_Looks like I'm going to live with it,_ he told himself sternly, and focused his attention on thinking about everything but the pain he was in.

As soon as he'd gotten used to the increased pain, though, he was interrupted again. The door to the infirmary creaked quietly, as though the person entering didn't wish to be heard, but Harry picked up the sound almost instantly.

He forced his fingers to move and gripped his wand, lifting it up defensively. "Who's there?" he demanded.

"Lumos."

The soft glow illuminated the face of someone he hadn't expected to see in his wildest imaginings.

"Malfoy," he snapped, though he could tell that it came out as more of a irritated rasp. "What are you doing here?" He couldn't hold back several rough coughs—his throat was like sandpaper.

"Severus talked to you." Malfoy commented once he was standing fifteen feet away, arms folded and grey eyes narrowed.

"And?"

"You're stupider than I thought, Potter, if you don't have any questions," Malfoy said snidely.

Harry eyed the other teen. He hadn't asked anything because he didn't want to give away his suspicions or any information that shouldn't be passed on to…oh, say, Voldemort? "That depends if you're willing to give answers to them," he settled on.

It was surprisingly easy to stay calm, he realized, as he lay on the hospital bed. He was in too much pain to do much more than stay awake, and it just didn't seem worth it to attempt to get angry about anything Malfoy said.

"I might," Malfoy said finally, voice sharp in the quiet.

"You never meant for your father to take me out of Hogwarts, did you?" Harry asked abruptly. Malfoy laughed aloud, sounding disturbingly like his father for a moment.

"Right to the point, Potter," Malfoy said after his laughter died. "No, no I didn't. Of course, we all know how well _that _plan worked out."

"Did Dumbledore know?" Harry demanded.

"No," Malfoy said. "Severus and I knew that the plan would not work if Dumbledore knew. You might not realize it, but the old fool's besotted with you, Potter. There was no way he would've agreed to something that harmed you."

"And Lucius would've just waltzed right in?" Harry asked, incredulous.

Malfoy shrugged and sighed. "I suppose it's not a secret any more. Severus has a few tricks—he was able to dismantle a few wards without Dumbledore even noticing."

"And he still doesn't know?" Harry asked in surprise. Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"Why do you think Dumbledore was so calm when you were 'found?'" Malfoy said. "Severus had to tell him the instant things went wrong—when you suddenly disappeared from the closet. We thought that my father had somehow managed to get to you from some other route."

"Sorry I messed up your plans," Harry said sarcastically, then coughed roughly once more.

"Why aren't you drinking any water?" Malfoy asked abruptly. "The coughing is bugging the hell out of me."

Harry eyed his enemy and ignored the comment. "Does your father know you're a traitor now?" he asked.

Malfoy looked away a moment. "About that…I suppose I should…apologize…for the incident yesterday."

"What?"

"The wraith wasn't sent for you, Potter," Malfoy said. "Traitors are meant for deaths like that. Much, _much _more merciful than what the Dark Lord has planned for you."

"That _thing _was supposed to be attacking you?" Harry asked. "Then why in bloody hell did it go after me?"

"How much do you know about pseudo creatures, Potter?" Malfoy asked.

"Nothing," Harry admitted.

The blonde sneered then opened his mouth as if to make some rude comment before changing his mind and turning away. Malfoy paced a moment, then finally gave in and sat down on a bed across from him. "Pseudo creatures are almost impossible to generate, and take dark magic to make. The Dark Lord's got the power and the ability, but even he can't give them more than the most basic instructions. He probably sent it after a teenager with a curse mark, and mixed us up."

"But that means…"

"Not as stupid as you sound, are you, Potter?"

Malfoy pulled up his left sleeve, and Harry saw the Dark Mark on Malfoy's arm. It was raw still, burned into the boy's pale skin, giving Harry the idea that it had been done recently.

"So it confused the Dark Mark with my scar," Harry mused aloud. "So I took the attack in your place…great," Harry muttered.

"It's not like he plans to let you hang around here having fun anyway," Malfoy told him coldly. "You might as well get used to it."

"At least you'd get potions," Harry said, almost to himself.

But Malfoy seemed to have sharp ears. "What're you on about, Potter?"

Harry blinked, and shook his head. "Nothing. Did you have something else to say, or can I go back to sleep now?"

Malfoy suddenly seemed to be uncomfortable, shifting and looking around a moment before clearing his throat weakly. "Well…"

"Spit it out, Malfoy," Harry almost growled, then had to cough again to ease his irritated throat.

"You really should be getting something for that…" Malfoy stalled. Harry glared, and Malfoy seemed to steady himself. "I know you didn't have anything to do with Narcissa's death."

Harry blinked. That was Malfoy's big nerve-wracking fact? He almost said as much, then thought about it a bit more. Malfoy was admitting he'd been wrong. _That _was something he'd never seen nor heard before.

"I'm glad," he settled on. "Can you leave me alone now?" he asked. "Or is your father going to pop in here and attempt to kidnap me again?"

"Don't be stupid, Potter," Malfoy spat angrily, looking frustrated.

"Why are you telling me all this, then? I know Dumbledore favors leaving me in the dark about things like this," Harry informed the teen.

Malfoy shrugged. "I'm still making up my mind, I suppose."

"About what?"

"About whether I'm throwing my lot in with the right side. About whether I think _you _have a chance at actually pulling it off," Malfoy said calmly.

"Ever the Slytherin," Harry snapped. "Only concerned about yourself."

"Better than worrying about people that don't matter," Malfoy said flatly.

"Everyone matters."

Malfoy almost glared at him. "You're a fool, Potter. It's going to get you killed." The teen stood up angrily.

Harry watched the teen stalk towards the door with half-closed eyes. "I don't think being a fool is what's going to kill me," he informed Malfoy, only a moment before the blonde teen stormed out.

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To his surprise, when he next awoke there was a tray with four potions waiting for him beside his glasses. They looked fresh—one was steaming slightly—so he assumed that Snape hadn't followed through on his promise. Probably, he figured, Dumbledore wouldn't let him.

That didn't mean he had to drink them, he reminded himself. He had told Snape he didn't want anything from him, and he wasn't going to go back on that just because Snape had.

Before anyone could appear, he _evanescoed_ all of the potions, glaring at their now-empty vials before rolling over to face away from the sight. He didn't really want any reminder of Snape at the moment.

The pain in his body seemed to have migrated mainly to his forearms and hands, and he was careful to keep them as still as he could as he moved. He was hoping that he could just fall asleep again for a while longer, but, again, he had no such luck.

"Mr. Potter!" Pomfrey exclaimed, seeing him awake. Her eyes darted over the empty vials, narrowing a moment, and then she smiled at him again. "And how are we feeling today?" she asked.

"Better," Harry lied. "Can I go?"

Pomfrey 'humphed' and stepped up to his bedside, taking his right hand up. He had to clench his teeth tightly to avoid making any sound, and Pomfrey didn't seem to notice his discomfort.

"Wiggle your fingers for me, dear," she asked.

Harry did as he was told, though it felt as if someone were sawing his fingers off, and Pomfrey seemed to hesitate a moment. "No pain at all?" she asked.

"None," Harry said, then smiled as best he could. "I'm much better."

"I expect you back here this evening for treatment," she told him sternly, stepping away from him. "You're not out of the woods yet."

Harry nodded, ignoring the stiffness in his neck, and forced himself to get off the bed in one fluid movement. He kept up the charade long after Pomfrey had disappeared into her office, suspicious that she was still keeping an eye on him, and didn't stop until he was out of the infirmary, on his way back to Gryffindor.

The hall around him was fairly empty—it was Sunday, so he supposed everyone was either outside or in their common rooms—and he allowed his even strides to falter, trying to ease the fiery burning that almost crippled him with its intensity. The pain was making him slightly nauseous as well, and he focused on just trying to get back to Gryffindor before he passed out.

Again, he was to have no such luck.

"Mr. Potter!"

He turned reluctantly, and gave Professor Murkwater a weak smile. "Hello, sir."

"Thought you were in the infirmary, Potter," the man commented. Harry shrugged.

"Madame Pomfrey let me go," he explained. "I'm much better."

"Surprised you lived," the man commented. "That should have killed you."

Harry shrugged again. "You know me, sir," he said wearily. "'The Boy-Who-Stubbornly-Refuses-to-Die," he joked. He didn't noticed Murkwater's expression change for a short moment, and turned to leave. "I'm really tired, sir," he said.

"Are you sure you're well, Potter?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir," Harry assured the man, then when he heard nothing else out of the professor, he walked off down the hall, forcing himself not to limp or even slouch his shoulders.

He was half-expecting to meet someone else on the short walk, but to his surprise he managed to make it all the way back into Gryffindor without being stopped by anyone else.

"HARRY!"

He forced himself to do nothing more than grimace as Hermione latched onto him, hugging him tightly. When she finally stepped back, she wasn't the only one with tears in her eyes.

"I'm still a little sore, 'Mione," he admitted. She looked worried and relieved all at once.

"I've been researching that…that _thing _that attacked you, Harry," she told him. "It should have _killed _you!"

"Thanks for that wonderful news," Harry replied sarcastically. "I was already told that."

"You all right?" Ron asked quietly. Harry looked over and saw that his other best friend looked pale and exhausted.

"Yeah," he said. "Just…sore, like I said. Is there something wrong?" he asked, confused as to Ron's odd behavior.

The red head shook his head, though, and sat down on the couch. "I'm fine, mate," Ron assured him. Harry wasn't sure if Ron was telling the truth or not, but he let it go in favor of carefully lowering himself down into an overstuffed chair.

"You look stiff," Hermione commented. "Is Professor Snape giving you the right potions?" she asked.

"Sure," Harry said. "I took four different ones just a bit ago," he lied. Hermione bit her lip.

"I'm sorry we didn't visit you," she said suddenly. Harry blinked.

"You didn't?" he asked. "Well, I was out all night, you know."

"They wouldn't let us," Ron grumbled. "They told us to wait here instead! We had no idea if you'd died or what."

Harry realized what the problem was with Ron in a sudden burst of un-Harry-like insight. "You've been up all night," he said aloud. Ron reddened somewhat.

"Couldn't sleep."

"I'm fine, Ron," he promised. "Hermione, you didn't stay up all night, did you?" he asked. She blushed.

"I fell asleep around four in the morning," she admitted. "I didn't know that Ron stayed awake."

"I'm sorry I scared you both," he said, unsure if he was supposed to apologize or not.

Hermione sighed. "We're not mad at _you, _Harry," she told him. "It's just frustrating when they leave us in the dark like that! I mean, we're practically family."

"What're you talking about?" Harry asked. "You two _are _my family…unless you think the Dursleys count?"

"There _is _Remus," Ron pointed out. Harry shrugged.

"Well, okay, you're like my brother and sister then," he amended. "Still family."

Hermione smiled wanly, looking as if she were about to burst into tears, and suddenly flung herself at him again. This time, he had to push her away—she was squeezing him much too tightly, and his sore body just could not take it. "I'm sore, remember?" he explained.

She managed to look sheepish, and Harry sighed, relaxing back onto the sofa even more. "I'm supposed to go back to the infirmary for more potions this evening," he said aloud.

"We'll stop there on the way to dinner," Ron said. Harry nodded stiffly in agreement, trying not to tax his sore body.

"I wonder why Malfoy tried to warn you like that?" Hermione asked suddenly. Harry looked over without moving his sore neck.

"He came and talked to me," Harry informed his friends. "Things are a lot more complicated than they seem…like that thing yesterday? It was supposed to kill _him._"

Hermione frowned, then blinked a few times as if thinking something through. "Then…he's not a death eater?" she asked tentatively. Ron snorted dubiously, and Harry proceeded to tell his friends everything Malfoy had said in the infirmary.

"I don't know if he was or what, but he's got the Dark Mark," Harry informed his friends. "He could have been feeding me a dozen different lies last night, so I don't know what it means. He says he's making up his mind as to which side he thinks is going to win."

"That'd be typical," Ron muttered. "The ferret's always about saving his own hide."

"Snape could corroborate Malfoy's story," Hermione pointed out timidly. Harry stilled.

"No."

"But it could—"

"No!" he said again. He was not going to talk to Snape. That was final and permanent.

"I know that you don't—" Hermione tried again, and Harry lurched to his feet.

"I'm going to take a nap," he said. "Leave me alone, why don't you?" he snapped, then stormed toward his dormitory.

"Way to go, 'Mione," he heard Ron mutter behind him, but he didn't stop. He opened the door violently and slammed it behind him.

He sat on his bed with the curtains drawn tightly, and tried to calm down. He knew Hermione meant well, but she just didn't seem to understand just how much he _hated _Snape.

To ease his anger, he took out the old book and opened it once more, thumbing through the pages until he found where he was. It was more likes of cramped, still partially faded writing, and he skimmed it slowly, reading portions of it and hoping something would catch his attention.

_'…an aura of darkness about the place, as if it were meant for evil…fading from sight, and even as I ponder it, I imagine that the fortress is still slowly fading. Soon, perhaps tomorrow, it will be gone…Yesterday, an old man swore to me that he'd seen a monstrous serpent on the hillside, moving towards the fortress. Of course, all he could tell me was that the beast was green…'_

He skimmed faster, hoping for something that would give away the location of the Fortress, and again saw the familiar shape of a poem on the next page. It seemed to him that these older books were all about poetry and double meanings—thing he definitely didn't need at the moment. He just wanted a straight answer.

But he read the poem anyway:

_Why must thou search for it?_

_All others have come and gone,_

_Lost their way and then quit,_

_And yet you refuse and go on._

_Folly awaits you, young man,_

_No reward will be obtained there._

_You are foolish if you think you can_

_For anything but death is rare._

_Save it from evil, you say?_

_Keep it from a terrible fate?_

_Oh, perhaps, perhaps you may;_

_But perhaps, perhaps it's too late._

He got the distinct feeling that the author had nothing but dark feelings for the fortress, as did just about everything in the book. If he got to this place before Tom, he wasn't even sure he wanted in it any more. It sounded as if the place were cursed beyond all hope—which was something that Tom would enjoy, he knew.

He thought about reading more, but he was already halfway through the book and had found nothing giving away the Fortress's location. He put the book back under his bed, putting it on top some spare parchment, and then settled back onto his bed.

Tiredly, he lay back on his pillow and closed his eyes, hoping that some rest would do his aching body some good.

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_'Pardon?'_

_'M'aide! Ouvre la porte, s'il-vous-plait!'_

_'Non!'_

_'M'aide!'_

He had no idea what most of the indistinct conversation meant, and tried his best to remember the words. It was a different language—German or French or something—and he supposed that Hermione would know…

But he was distracted from remembering, because he was back at the Fortress, struggling up the grassy hill. Lightening was hitting the ground less than half a mile from where he stood, and he could see bolts hitting the fortress's highest towers.

Everything was a chaotic mess…and then, for a brief moment, he thought he saw a group down at the base of the hill, surrounded by what had to be Death Eaters and fighting for their lives. Then, in an instant, the image was gone.

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He sat up with a gasp, disoriented for a brief moment, then realized he was in his bed with the curtains still drawn tightly around him.

Still breathing heavily, he quickly pulled out some parchment and quill, scratching down what little bit he'd seen in the 'vision.' And then he remembered the foreign words. Mayday, or something, he thought. See-voo-play, he remembered as well. It sounded vaguely familiar, and he felt as if he should know what it meant, but he couldn't figure it out.

He wrote down the rest of what he remembered hearing, grimacing at the phonetic spellings he was forced to use, then folded the parchment up and put it away once more. He was still tired and sore, and he knew that he wouldn't be able to think much about the vision in his current state.

"Harry, you awake?"

Ron's voice sounded hopeful.

"Yeah," he finally said. "What's wrong?"

"Hermione didn't mean to be bossy like that, you know," Ron informed him, still somewhere beyond the curtains. "She just…worries."

"I know that," Harry said flatly, still annoyed with his friends. "I won't talk to him. He's destroyed my life enough."

"She just doesn't want you to be hurt, Harry," Ron explained. "It's not that she doesn't understand how you feel about Snape."

"I don't care." He settled back on his bed, staring up at the canopy, and frowned when Ron pulled back the curtains.

"Yes, you do," Ron informed him. "And you're going to apologize to her, and you know it."

Harry ignored his friend, although deep inside he knew Ron was right. "I'm tired," he informed the red-head.

"You're supposed to be getting more potions from Pomfrey," Ron said. "It's almost seven."

"Fine," Harry said shortly, getting up abruptly. His body did not ache as much as it had before, he noted, and he was able to walk with only a slight stiffness out of the dorm, Ron trailing behind him. "I _can _go on my own," he said, noticing that Ron planned to go with him.

Ron shrugged. "Don't want anything to happen," he explained. Harry sighed but didn't argue. He knew that Ron could be much more stubborn than himself, so there was no reason to argue when he wouldn't win.

Instead, he let Ron walk with him as he headed to the infirmary, trying to think of a way to avoid taking the potions he was sure she'd give him.

"Potter!"

He turned at the sharp voice, and saw Ron tense. "Malfoy," he said flatly. "What do you want now?"

"I've made my decision," Malfoy said, ignoring Ron's growl.

"And?" Harry asked flatly, feigning disinterest. "What is it?"

Malfoy stuck out his hand.

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A/N: Sorry so short, but I'm busy like you wouldn't believe, and I've been working on later chapters. The poetry attempt was last minute, so if it's terrible, I'm very sorry. I don't have much time to think up good poems, though I've got a short list of fragments I've managed to concoct. Maybe someday I'll use some of them…yeah, right…

I'll answer some reviews here, but if I didn't get to you, it's because I'm reeely busy and I have to up again in…oh, four hours…in order to cook Easter dinner. So have a good Easter yourselves and tell me what you think!

Responses:

JDZ: Yeah, I got lots of comments for a while that said Harry was a big wimp in this story. I just was doing my best to make him realistic—I didn't want to suddenly be all confident and powerful. He's got to work on it, and it's going to take a lot of time. By the end of this story, he's still going to be kind of insecure and everything that makes him Harry, but I think he'll have really matured and figured things out. Hopefully my readers will agree with me.

Loony: Sorry, I AM here, but I'm busy like you wouldn't believe. I am in five clubs—I'm an officer in four of them—and I don't have much spare time. I was gone all spring break—I went up to Canada and partied—and now I have a cold so I don't much feel like writing. So sorry, but I'm working as hard as I can.

Ash Knight, Dianne: Thank you both for the reviews. I am trying to work around RL intrusions (see above) but it's tricky.

Emsnape: I've been trying to decide if you are THE emsnape that's writing In Blood Only. I love that story, though I'm way behind in reading it. Anyway, thank you for the review and I'm glad you're enjoying it.

Thanks to everyone else too: your reviews go a long way to encouraging me to keep writing this story. Oh, and look for a new story soon. I've always been a big 'Snape mentors Harry' fan, so I'm going to take a stab at it. I just have to think up an original twist…shouldn't take me tooo many years, right?

Anyway, ttyl, Miss Laine


	33. Home for Break

Disclaimer: Don't own it, so don't sue.

A/N: Wow. The AN I set for this was soo far out of date…but I'm back now, and hopefully will be back for a while at least, so I'm going to post as often as I can manage, even if after I'm finished with this story I'm going to break it apart and redo a lot of it. I made a long, two-page list of things wrong with this story, and I'm hopefully going to fix it ALL. Anyway, enjoy, and I'm so sorry it took this long…I know I hate when authors disappear, and here I did it to all of you…again.

Thanks for the patience,

Miss Laine

Chapter 32: 'Home' for Break

Nothing really seemed to change after he and Malfoy shook hands. Harry still glared at the other teen, and Malfoy glared right back, making as many disparaging comments about Harry's scar, Ron's family, and Hermione's heritage as he could. It was almost as if nothing had happened…

Except that twice he found out that Malfoy ended up in the infirmary, injured in some way or another. He assumed it was because the death eaters were still after the other teen, but he couldn't seem to feel that sorry for Malfoy.

He figured the git finally was at least partially getting back what he deserved for years of treating everyone else as less than dirt. Certainly, he didn't really want to see Malfoy _killed_, but it didn't really bother him too much that Malfoy was suffering the consequences of joining the light side.

Neither Ron, nor, surprisingly, Hermione, felt that confident in Malfoy's suddenly loyalty to their side, and even he had to admit that it didn't seem quite right. Malfoy had never been one to do something without a reason, and, to Harry, the reason Malfoy switched sides wasn't that clear.

But Dumbledore obviously believed Malfoy to be truthful, or at least acted as if he felt that way, so Harry didn't press the point with anyone…he just stayed on his toes whenever the blonde teen was around. Just in case.

Of course, he was on his toes already because it was the last few weeks of the term, and he and his friends were all swamped with more homework than they could possibly handle. Essays were due every day of the week, and Harry found himself often mixing up his essays and his classes. Just the other day, he'd gotten out his Potions essay and his Transfiguration textbook, and it had taken him twenty minutes to realized that the reason he couldn't find 'asphodel' in the index was because he had the wrong book.

Even Hermione was tired and strung out, her eyes red from reading too much and too long, and her normally perfect handwriting starting to look a little sloppy. Of course, Harry knew, he essays were all, on average, about twice as long as his own, so she deserved to look a little frazzled.

"Just think…the holidays are coming up and we get a break," Ron told him wearily, stretching and setting down a half-finished charms essay. Harry sighed, stretching as well and cracking his stiff neck. His own charms essay hadn't even made it past the outline stage—he'd slipped off earlier to attempt to get wandless magic to work for him again, and then he'd tried a couple of times to complete his animagus transformation. Still, all he could get was some transformation in his arms and legs, but nothing more, no matter how hard he concentrated on the dragon form.

Ron and Hermione had put their own attempts on hold until the next term, much too busy with quidditch and studying (respectively) to put in the time and focus necessary to finish the transformations.

Of course, his own attempts to concentrate hadn't been that successful either—despite his rudimentary Occlumency skills, he couldn't manage to clear all the turmoil from his mind and focus on one thing. There were too many worries in his mind to let him relax.

"Glad there's something to look forward to," he finally answered. "Of course…I probably have to stay here for the break," he admitted.

Ron looked aghast. "They wouldn't do that to you, would they?" he asked. Harry shrugged.

"I don't really want to go back to Grimmauld, especially if Remus isn't going to be there, and I can't put your family in danger by going to the Burrow," he explained.

"You're not putting us in danger, Harry!" Ron argued. "You-kno—Voldemort—knows that my family has always been against him. It doesn't matter if you're there or not!"

"Sure it does," Harry argued evenly. "Besides—maybe Remus will be home for the holidays anyway, so it won't matter."

"Whatever, mate," Ron said, looking as if he still wanted to argue. "Just don't think you're unwelcome at the Burrow," he added. Harry nodded.

"Your mum would drag me there if she thought she could get away with it," Harry joked. "I'd like to be there, too, but you have to admit that it's dangerous. Voldemort will do anything to get to me now, and I don't think the wards around the Burrow would stop him for very long."

Ron looked defeated a moment, then sighed. "I suppose…I just wish things were different."

"So do we all," Hermione said softly, rubbing at her strained eyes. "I can't even imagine what we'd be like…what you'd be like, Harry…if none of this had every happened."

Harry frowned, thinking of how arrogant his father had been at fifteen and sixteen, then thought of how life might have been if he'd grown up with his parents. He sighed quietly, imagining life without a cupboard under the stairs, and shook away the image. It was too late and pointless to imagine what could have been.

"We'd still be stressed and tired right now," Ron pointed out. "This homework is killing me."

"It's not that bad, Ronald," Hermione scolded gently. Ron rolled his eyes, and, when Hermione looked away, stuck his tongue out at her.

"Come on," Harry said, shoving his books away from himself and standing up. "Let's go outside and play in the snow," he offered. "Let's do something normal for once."

Harry had to admit that Hermione's idea made sense, and he followed his friends outside.

"There is the issue of your holiday break," Dumbledore began slowly, eyes on Harry.

True to the teen's predictions, the old headmaster had called him down to his office the next day in order to discuss the coming break. "Where am I going to be?" Harry asked, resigned.

"Remus will be at Grimmauld Place for the entirety of break," Dumbledore went on. "You will be staying there…if that is agreeable to you?"

Harry nodded, trying not to seem eager. He didn't like the fact that Dumbledore knew how to manipulate him so well, but he had to admit that he did look forward to a real Christmas, spent with the one person that was the closest thing he had to a parent any more.

"How am I getting there?" he asked, knowing they couldn't possibly want him on the new, re-done Hogwarts Express.

Dumbledore smiled. "Portkey, my boy. I know you dislike them…but it is the only choice that I have available at the moment.

Harry nodded, swallowing. At least, he figured, he wouldn't be traveling while under attack or some such and would be able to keep his head. Only shock had kept him from panicking when Dumbledore had sent him to his office after Sirius's death.

"I'll be fine, sir," he said shortly. "Anything else?" he asked, standing up. Dumbledore shook his head.

"Good luck with exams, Harry," the old wizard said quietly, and Harry stopped, remembering something suddenly. He turned to face the headmaster again.

"There's been people speaking in French in my dreams," he said.

Hermione had been the one to figure out what had been said from his phonetic spellings of what he'd heard—something about 'help me, please'—and he'd heard similar words twice more since then.

"French?" Dumbledore echoed. "Are you sure, my boy?"

"Yes," Harry said. "The first person was asking for help, Hermione says, and the others have been bits and pieces that I didn't really understand."

"Do people often speak in your…dreams?" Dumbledore asked.

Harry shook his head. "Does it mean something?" he asked, though he already knew how Dumbledore would respond.

He wasn't disappointed.

"Perhaps…"

It was becoming a regular occurrence, he realized, for him to meet Luna somewhere in the halls on his way to the Gryffindor commons. He wasn't sure if it was coincidence or if she was purposely searching him out, but he found himself almost expecting to see her leaning against some wall or reading some book when he rounded a corner.

"Anything new today?" he asked her as he stopped beside her. She looked up with a warm, almost normal, smile.

"My father says his readers are interested in another interview," she told him. "About how the war's going—what needs to be done. I told him I'd ask you what you thought."

Harry hesitated, thinking about it. An interview might help, but he didn't want to give anything away to the enemy. It was asking for trouble—the interview last year had been an act of desperation, rather than a fully-planned move.

Luna nodded, before he'd even responded. "I'll tell him it must wait," she said. "He'll understand."

"It's not that I don't want to—" he tried to explain, instinctively hoping he hadn't offended her.

She nodded though, smiling again. "These are dangerous times, Harry," she said, a mystic quality to her voice. "You'll see it through."

Her words were encouraging and honest, and he smiled back. "Look—I've got to get back to packing and homework," he told her, "but maybe we can talk some later," he offered. "Write me over break or something, and I'll write back," he offered. Luna nodded, then walked away in her normal, wandering, manner.

Without thinking about it for too long, Harry reached for the proffered portkey, letting his hand rest fully against it as he breathed out, trying to keep himself calm.

"Three…two…one," Kingsley said, and Harry felt the familiar but still gut-wrenching jerk as the portkey activated and the world around them swirled away into nothing.

"Easy there, lad," he heard a familiar voice say as he stumbled. Hands held him up until he got his feet back under himself, and he stepped back and turned to smile at his guardian.

"Remus," he greeted the older man warmly. The werewolf looked as uncertain as Harry felt, but suddenly seemed to make a decision.

Harry found himself in a warm hug before he could blink, and, to his amazement, he realized he'd missed being hugged a lot. He returned the hug until Remus let go, stepping back and looking him over with a smile. "You've grown, Harry," Remus commented.

"I've grown an inch," Harry informed the man. "I'm still barely taller than Hermione, though," he admitted.

"And your father was such a tall teenager…" Remus mused, then looked away a moment, eyes focused on distant memories. Harry tried to get them past the almost awkward moment.

"Exams went well I think," he said. "Potions was terrible, as usual," he added with a dark glare at the floor.

Remus laughed. "To be expected, I suppose," the man agreed easily. "Severus surely isn't taking it easy on you."

"He dumped out my practical," Harry informed the man. "Tipped my cauldron into the sink without any explanation, and afterwards told me that 'it was too green.' It's unfair what he's allowed to get away with!"

"He may not have to keep up appearances any more, but most of the Slytherins don't know that he was a spy," Remus reminded him. Harry sighed, then let his guardian slowly lead him towards the main living room.

"He _likes _doing it, is the problem," Harry tried to explain. "I can see it in his eyes…he's always loved humiliating and hurting me."

Remus looked up. "_Hurting _you?" he echoed sharply. Harry reddened.

"Not like that, Remus," he assured his guardian, almost alarmed at the reaction since he'd so long been away from Remus's rather protective nature.

Still…he couldn't help but remember when Snape had thrown him away from the pensieve…

But Snape had been upset, and for good reason, Harry had to admit to himself. He couldn't really use that as some sort of example of Snape physically attacking him.

All the times that Snape had humiliated and degraded him—those where what stuck in his mind, though. Even if he tried to excuse it as an act put on by Snape…it didn't make any sense. Why would it have mattered when he was eleven, and Voldemort was gone? Could Snape justify humiliating and tormenting an eleven year old child?

"I'm glad I was able to come for Christmas," Harry finally said, forcing the conversation to change. "I was wondering if it was going to be safe."

Remus smiled wanly. "It took some convincing," Remus admitted. "He may not always seem it, Harry, but he's more worried about your safety than you might think."

"I think I get it now," Harry assured his guardian. "I didn't understand it last year."

"I'm glad," Remus said quietly. "I'm going to let you get settled in, then," Remus said, indicating the room to their left. Harry nodded, and followed his trunk as it floated through the doors and up the staircase. "I've got a meeting, but I'll be back for dinner," Remus called after him.

Harry headed up the stairs, following his floating trunk, and unpacked once he was back into his room and the trunk had settled down on the floor. Remembering something, he went to the dresser and pulled out the photograph of his parents and friends, smiling at the figures all waving up at him. They all blinked somewhat in the brighter light, looking like they'd been sleeping this whole time.

"Sorry I left you in there," he told the photograph quietly. He placed the photograph back on top of the dresser, feeling much better about it. Somehow, being at school seemed to have helped him come to terms with how he felt about his father and Sirius. Also, it was hard to feel sorry for Snape anymore…

He was downstairs, actually working on homework, when Remus returned through the fireplace. "Hullo—" Harry started to say, when he saw Remus's grim expression. "What happened?" he asked instead.

Remus sighed, hanging up his cloak and spelling soot off of his robes. "Everyone's all right, for now," Remus said. "There's been a leak—we don't know how—and Voldemort knows that you're here. Professor Snape's fairly certain that Voldemort's researching a way to get into here, but without a tie to the inner circle, we can't know anything for certain."

Harry was reminded…again…of his failure to keep that information from Voldemort, but pushed it away. It was done, and he couldn't take it back.

"But isn't it under the Fidelus Charm?" Harry asked, confused.

"We have a spy…no one even knows who…but it means that Voldemort might already know where we're at," Remus said grimly.

"So we have to leave?" Harry asked. "Or just me?"

Remus looked reluctant. "Just you, Harry…we won't give this place up without a fight, but it isn't worth the risk of leaving you here."

"Where am I going next?" Harry asked, unwilling to fight about this. "Back to Hogwarts?"

Remus hesitated. "I can't tell you," the man admitted. "Only Moody and Arthur Weasley have been told."

"Oh," Harry said. "How long until they come?"

"Tonight," Remus said. "I—I have your Christmas gift, though. I thought we could have Christmas tonight."

"I hate Tom Riddle," Harry said flatly, setting down his book. "If it wasn't for him, none of this would be happening."

"I know," Remus said. "But we're dealing with it as best we can. This'll all be over some day, and you'll be telling stories about it to your kids."

Harry grimaced. "Kids? Don't you think I'd better just see if I make it through Hogwarts first?"

Remus looked greatly saddened for some reason. "I suppose…" The man looked away a moment, then turned back, clearing his throat roughly. "I'll see to dinner—Tonks should be over later, too."

Harry grinned. "Oh, really?" he teased. "What did you get _her_?"

Remus reddened a little, then suddenly smirked.

"A package came for you," he said. "From a certain blonde-haired girl."

Harry blinked. He knew only one blonde-haired girl that well. "_Luna?_" he asked. Remus nodded.

"Wonder why she's sending _you _a present, eh, Harry?" Remus teased.

Harry blinked, thinking back. He'd certainly been talking to Luna more than usual, and sure, he'd come to expect to see her during the day and listen to her silly bits of advice, chat a bit, and then watch her wander away again. Never had she suggested that she saw him as any more than an acquaintance.

He had said she should write, though…maybe that was what was behind this, he decided.

"I suppose I should open that now, so I can send her a thank-you note," he said. Remus smiled, then flicked his wand.

A small package dropped into Harry's lap after popping into existence from wherever Remus had put it. He eyed the red wrapping paper with the moving dragons dubiously, then slowly undid the paper, sliding out the letter that was lying on top of whatever she had sent him.

'_Dear Harry,_

_The stars told me that I should send you something this holiday season, and I could not disobey. Hopefully, your holidays will go as well as mine—I am spending them with my father, writing another article on Voldemort's attacks south of Hogwarts._

_I know I may seem somewhat…odd at times, but I know some of what you've been through. Talking to you is easy for me—you listen, unlike everyone else, even Ginerva. Hopefully, my gift to you will be of use, and we will find more time to speak during the spring._

_While you may not believe in snorklumps and the other creatures that my father and I search for every summer, you must still believe in love and hope. That is what makes you who you are, Harry, and what makes you so different from everyone else._

_Good luck for your holidays,_

_Love,_

_Luna'_

Harry read the letter through once, to himself, then, puzzled, read it aloud to Lupin.

"What do you think she means?" Harry asked, confused.

Lupin smiled. "I think someone's trying to tell you that she likes you," he said wisely. Harry blinked.

"She's never said anything—" he protested.

"Sometimes it's hard to tell," Lupin said. "And, from what I know of Luna, it could be hard to tell just what she's saying."

Harry didn't say anything. He hadn't ever thought of Luna as anything more than a friend, but the idea didn't seem entirely impossible to him. There was almost a warm feeling in his heart, and he avoided having to say anything to Remus by opening the gift.

A slim book fell out, expanding somewhat so that it was full sized by the time it was fully in his hands. The title was written in gilded script across the front, and Harry had to tilt the book somewhat in order to read it.

"Castles of France," he read aloud, wondering how Luna knew what he was researching. "I don't get it," he said, wondering if this were some rare and possibly useful book.

Remus lifted it from his hands, eyebrows raising as he read the cover. "Very interesting," the werewolf said softly. "I haven't seen a book like that in ages."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"Oh, it's not anything _rare,_ really. I mean, I've never seen one for French castles, but I'm not surprised. It's something like an interactive book…open it later, when you have some time, and you'll see what I mean. Harmless, but very informative."

Harry set the book down, wanting to open it but holding back. Then, he sighed. "D'you want to do gifts now, or eat first?" he asked.

"Dinner won't be ready for a bit longer," Remus said. "I thought I'd cook the ham the muggle way."

"When's Tonks due to be over?" Harry asked, smiling.

Remus tried to suppress his eager expression, but failed. "Soon."

"I'm going to write a thankyou to Luna then," Harry stated. "I can wait until she's here."

Remus nodded, standing up and heading towards the kitchen. "Ah, to be a teen again," he teased.

Harry blushed red, but Remus had already disappeared into the kitchen and didn't see it. He forced himself to stop blushing, then pulled out a blank piece of parchment and re-dipped his dried quill.

_'Dear Luna,_

_Thank you for the interesting gift. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to look at it over break. Oh, and Remus said it was a good gift, too._

_I hope you have a good holiday, too, and am looking forward to that article. I never really said anything before, but last year it was great to have someone to talk to that didn't pry or push me. _

_I know people tend to think you don't say anything sensible, but I like it. Sometimes, what you have to say is just what I need to hear._

_So anyway, thanks, and see you after break,_

_Your friend,_

_Harry'_

He thought of saying more, but wasn't sure how to write it. He also didn't want to say too much, just in case the letter was intercepted.

And so he left it how it was, folding it up and placing it to one side so he could send it the next day—if he could send owls from wherever he ended up.

Tonks arrived just as he finished his transfiguration essay, crashing through the fireplace and knocking over a tall vase. Harry managed to make it to her just as the vase shattered all over the floor and Tonks looked up guiltily.

"Sorry 'bout that," she said, by way of greeting.

Harry shrugged. "Dunno why there was a vase so close to the fireplace anyway," he said.

Tonks grinned. "Wotcher, Harry. How ya doing?"

"All right," he said. "Except the whole having to leave tonight thing," he admitted. Tonks looked sympathetic.

"We tried to find another way, Harry," she said, following him back towards the kitchen. "But Voldie's getting pushy, and we're probably going to have to abandon Grimmauld Place for a while, anyway."

"I don't suppose you can tell me where I'm being sent next," Harry commented, trying to keep from sounding grouchy. He didn't want to ruin what little holiday he was going to have.

Tonks sighed. "I don't even know," she said. "Only Moody and Charlie."

"Great," he grumbled, but was cut off.

"Dinner!" Remus called out. Tonks grinned, sniffing the air.

"Mmmm, ham!" she exclaimed. Harry sniffed, finally noticing the smell of cooked ham, and followed after Tonks as she hurried into the dining room, clumsily ducking the dishes of food that were floating their way over to the table.

"Hopefully, it turned out all right," Remus said, sounding unsure. A flick of his wand carved the ham into thick slices, and Tonks quickly stole one—knocking over her water glass in the process.

"Tastes all right to me!" she laughed, waving her wand to clear up the spilled water.

Harry laughed at her antics, pushing his worries aside for the moment, and let Remus heap his plate with a bit of everything that was on the table.

After dinner had finished, Harry ran upstairs to get his presents for Remus and Tonks, then met them in the sitting room. Remus had started a fire, and Tonks was curled up in a very un-Tonks-like manner in one of the stuffed chairs.

Both smiled as he came into the room, carrying two medium-sized packages, and Remus gestured for him to sit down. "Pull up a chair," Remus suggested. "There's been word—Charlie and Moody will be here between ten and four. No exact time was given," Remus admitted.

Harry sighed, but didn't argue as he sat down near the fire. Remus finally took a seat, pulling two packages out from below the chair, and Harry saw that Tonks had enlarged two small boxes she had pulled from her pocket.

"How do we want to do this?" Remus asked, looking around. Harry stood up, handed his presents to Tonks and Remus, and received theirs.

"All right," he said, once he was seated again. "Tonks, you open the one from me, and I'll open the one from you," he ordered.

Tonks nodded, eagerly tearing open the wrapping paper in order to see what he'd gotten her.

He watched somewhat nervously, not sure if she would like what he had gotten her, but she smiled broadly when she saw it.

"This is great, Harry!" she exclaimed, laughing and holding up the muggle cookbook. Harry smiled.

"You always seem to want to learn to cook," he explained. "Maybe it'll help."

"Thank you, Harry," she said, still laughing. Remus also had an amused expression on his face, so Harry figured it was all right. "Now open yours!" she said, sounding excited.

He unwrapped his gift quickly, wondering what she had bought, and smiled broadly at the book he unwrapped. "Essential Spells of the Auror," he read aloud. Tonks nodded.

"Yup," she said. "The author's legend around the Ministry," she said, and Harry looked down to check the names.

"Alastor Moody and…James Potter," he read weakly. "Wow," he said. "Thanks, Tonks."

"I'd forgotten about that book," Remus murmured. "Your father helped Moody to write it, though he was just a teen, fresh out of Hogwarts, at the time."

"Did he write anything else?" Harry asked.

Remus looked sad. "He didn't have time to."

Tonks cleared her throat loudly to end the melancholy silence. "Well, come on, Remus, open up what Harry got you!"

Remus allowed himself to be cheered up, and Harry watched his guardian unwrap the gift.

Revealing a photo album.

Remus opened it slowly, and Harry held his breath, wondering if perhaps it would be too emotional. The first few pages of pictures were of his parents and Sirius, and later were dozens of pictures of him, his friends, and both Sirius and Remus with him.

Worriedly, he watched a few tears drip down Remus's face, but then the werewolf looked up and smiled. "This is wonderful, Harry. I've always admired the album Hagrid gave you."

"You're welcome," Harry said sincerely. "I just thought…if we're really family and all…we should at least have a family album."

There were more tears in Remus's eyes now, and even Harry felt a slight lump in his throat.

But then the moment was ruined.

Sharp pain slashes through his scar and he cried out, slapping a hand to his forehead.

Remus leaped forward in an instant, mood switching from sad to alert in an instant. "What is it, Harry?" he demanded.

"He's…angry, maybe," Harry muttered, the pain in his head dulling to a slow throb. "Something didn't go right, I think."

"Should I get Dumbledore?" Remus asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know anything more than what I told you. He's angry."

"Does your scar still hurt?" Remus asked.

Harry waited a moment, letting the pain abate. "It's almost gone now," he reported. He rubbed his still-sore scar and nodded. "I'm all right," he promised, then opened Remus's gift to turn the conversation.

Sadly, it didn't do much to change the topic. Remus's gift was a large stack of shrunk-down books.

That were all about ancient castles in France.

Harry smiled weakly, thinking about his 'visions.' "I'll add Luna's book to this pile, I guess," he joked. "Maybe I'll find something in these," he added. "Thanks, Remus."

The sandy-haired man nodded, then turned as Tonks opened her gift from Remus. Harry smirked widely as he saw the gold locket on the fine chain. Tonks smiled, opening it, and Harry assumed that it contained pictures of the two.

"It's lovely, Remus," Tonks said, smiling happily. "Now open yours!"

Remus hesitantly tore open the somewhat garish paper on his gift, then laughed aloud, pulling out what appeared to be a pair of wolf ears. Harry blinked, feeling like perhaps he should leave the room, as Tonks lept up (knocking over several boxes), and planted the ears firmly on Remus's head, where they stuck tightly.

"Very funny," the mild man said, trying to pull the ears off of his head. They didn't budge, and Tonks laughed even more.

"There is still a kid in the room," Harry said aloud, waggling his eyebrows. Remus blushed, and Harry decided to have mercy on the two. "I'm going to go pack," he announced. "Thanks for the great gifts."

"No prob, Harry," Tonks said, still grinning at the wolf ears.

"I'll be up in a minute," Remus added.

Harry rolled his eyes dramatically. "Suuure," he said. Remus reddened again, and Harry took his gifts and left the room before Remus could remember the sort-of love letter he'd received from Luna Lovegood.

A/N: A lotta action coming up next chapter, and, just to warn you, SOMEONE DIES! I know, scary, and it was difficult for me to off this individual, but it had to be done. People on both sides of this war die, and this is just an instance of that. Hopefully, it's not too badly written.

Thanks, and hang in there,

Miss Laine


	34. Rough Holidays

Disclaimer: See all previous chapters.

A/N: Well, this chapter was done waaay ahead of time (see AN at bottom) so here it is a little earlier than I'd scheduled. Thought I'd just be nice and get it out there. Harry's life certainly doesn't stay boring for long, I can promise you that. He's in the thick of things now and there's no going back. Of course, some things he just can seem to avoid…

Chapter 34: Rough Holidays

"Come on, Harry," Charlie said with a grin. "Let's get moving."

Harry rolled his eyes as he dragged his half-full trunk forward. As much as he wanted to get this 'trip' over and find out just where they were sending him, it was much too early in the morning to feel any sort of interest in what was going on.

Moody had insisted on it, citing the fact that 'Voldemort certainly won't give them any breaks,' and Harry had been woken up by a too-cheery red-haired Weasley. "I'm going to sleep all day after this," Harry growled, dragging his trunk into the front hall. Charlie laughed.

"What, this too early for you?" he teased. Harry nodded vehemently.

"Absolutely. Two o'clock is my bedtime some days. Not when I wake up," he pointed out. Charlie shrugged.

"Go tell Moody you want to wait, then," Charlie suggested.

"Yeah, right," Harry said sarcastically. "And then he'll tell me that we need to take ten portkeys to get wherever we're going." He hesitated. "I don't suppose you can tell me where we're going, can you?"

Charlie shook his head. "Sorry, Harry," he apologized. "You'll find out soon enough."

"It'd just be nice to have an idea of where I'm going to be spending my holidays," he muttered, trying not to sound too childish. He could already picture him, probably with one or two Order members, sitting in some dusty house on Christmas, out of touch with everyone.

It'd be very much like being at the Dursleys again, he decided. Except that no one would throw him in a cupboard if they saw him.

"True," Charlie agreed with a shrug. "You got everything you need?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "I hadn't packed much for break anyway. Left everything at Hogwarts, pretty much."

"We're just waiting for—"

"I'm here, I'm here," Moody grumbled, stomping down the hall towards them. "You both ready?"

"Yep, Moody," Charlie said. "Ready to go."

"Potter," Moody said, as way of greeting. Harry nodded.

"Good morning," he said darkly. Moody smiled a snaggle-toothed grin.

"Mornin' to you, Potter," he said. He pulled a gold statuette from his pocket and held it out. "It'll activate as soon as we three touch it."

"Right," Harry said, stepping forward and keeping his trunk tight in his other hand.

He was just about to reach out to the portkey when the world exploded around him, reflecting very accurately the agonizing explosion inside his skull.

Pain burned through his brain, starting at his scar and driving him to his knees in an instant. He was almost blinded by it, so intense was the sick feeling of…triumph that permeated the agony he felt.

At the same time, the world outside his mind exploded as well.

One moment, the three were standing in silence, Charlie just walking towards Moody, and then the next Harry dropped to the floor, hands clamped to his head, while the door exploded outwards, kicking up a storm of dust. A gaping hole of ragged wood and stone was left, dirt and smoke billowing through it, and Harry had to throw up his arms as splinters of wood and debris showered him. He felt stone pelt his arms even as slivers of wood slashed his forearms, and as the rain of debris and the agony in his scar stopped he moved fast.

Dark shapes were pouring through the door, one after the other, and Harry knew they were in trouble. They had to be death eaters. Harry, though unprepared for the sudden attack, nevertheless managed to raise his wand before any curses were sent his way.

"Stupefy!" he shouted, even as he tried to dodge out of the way of a curse. He didn't see if anyone fell. "Stupefy!" he shouted again, sticking to the simple and short spell.

This time, he saw a body drop to the ground, victim of his spell, and he downed another before something hard hit him in the back, despite the shield his body formed in an attempt to protect him.

It was just his luck, though, that the attack was not magical, and his shield couldn't block it. A heavy timber from the front hall of Grimmauld Place had been sent careening into him. He was knocked forward, a painful burning blossoming out across his back, but he rolled and tried to duck down a hallway.

His way was almost immediately blocked by a roaring wall of flames, and he had to turn the other way. He didn't make it far. A fist slammed into his face, straight in the nose, and he fell onto his backside. He didn't have a chance to get up. "Stupefy," a cold voice snapped.

His shield didn't form, since he didn't even see the spell coming.

He didn't even realize he'd been stunned before the world went black.

He woke up lying on a cold floor, cheek and bruised nose pressed against the stones. He tried to sit up, but his hands wouldn't move—they were tied tightly behind his back, and his legs were bound tightly from knee to ankle with heavy ropes. Somehow, he still had his glasses on his face, and he could see that he was surrounded by death eaters, though none were paying attention to him at the moment.

He suppressed a groan as his back started to ache in protest of his awkward position and instead focused on looking around. Almost immediately, he spied the other two prisoners. Charlie Weasley, half-conscious as well and tied to a chair, and Mad-Eye Moody, similarly restrained.

Charlie looked battered and bruised, but otherwise unhurt, while Moody was sporting a bloody cut on his face. Both looked conscious and relatively well, Harry decided. They hadn't been harmed past the first struggle, he hoped.

He, on the other hand, didn't seem to have gotten off so lucky, he realized. His body ached as if he'd been dropped and hit many times, and he wondered just how much these guys had to hate him to want to beat him up even when he wasn't conscious.

Charlie looked up slowly, and Harry caught his eye only for a brief moment before Death Eaters closed around him, seeming to finally notice that he was awake. A booted foot slammed into his back, just above his bound hands, and he cried out in pained surprise before wrenching his head around in order to look up at his captors.

"Scum," he snarled. The boot slammed into his back again, a little harder, and he bit his lip in order to avoid crying out again.

"Potter," the death eater hissed. The others had moved away, behind the other two prisoners, though they all had their wands drawn and at the ready. "You know why you're here, don't you?"

"Because you have nothing better to do? Because you planned a surprise late birthday party for me?" Harry said sarcastically, "Or is it because you all missed my escapes so much?"

This time, the man stepped over his body and kicked him in the stomach. The breath was knocked out of his lungs with a whoosh, and he had to gasp weakly for several minutes, trying to keep from passing out.

Over his weak gasping, he heard his captor speaking again, but he only barely listened, more intent on trying to get oxygen into his body than anything else. "You're here, brat, because my Lord demands the whereabouts of the Key. You know what I'm talking about, and you know where it is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry managed, voice a little shaky

"Just tell me where the damn key is, brat," Lucius growled again. Harry knew without a doubt, now, that it was Lucius because he recognized the voice—the man was wearing a death eater mask and kept his hood carefully over his blonde hair.

He considered answering the demand. He could see Charlie and Moody, watching him with seemingly no emotion, and knew that they thought that he should just give in. But it just wasn't in him to give up information so easily. Especially not to Lucius Malfoy.

Besides, the truth was that he didn't really know anything about the key or the Fortress or anything at all. But that would be giving up his position to Voldemort, and he didn't want to do that. As long as Voldemort thought he knew about the key and where it was, he wouldn't try looking for it on his own. But if he found out that the key was still somewhere out there…well, he didn't know much about this whole Fortress thing, but he did know that Voldemort gaining control of it would not be a good thing.

And so he smiled, noting the frown that flitted across Charlie's face as he did so. "All right, _Malfoy_" he said, emphasizing the name, "I'll tell you."

"So you've managed to gain a little sense," the man snapped. Harry saw him throw off his mask, proving his guess correct. It was Malfoy Sr., sneering coldly down at his enemy. "I'm waiting," he pressed, as Harry hesitated.

"I keep it under my pillow in my dorm," he said, still forcing himself to smile. "I'm the third bed to the left from the do—."

"Crucio!" Malfoy snarled. Harry had no chance to prepare himself, to brace for the almost unendurable pain. He knew he was screaming and writhing against his bonds, but none of it mattered.

Knives were pounding into his skin.

Flames were burning his bones.

Ice ran through his veins.

Stars danced in his fading vision.

The pain tore through his body without stop, and when Malfoy finally ended the curse he was shaking and shivering on the floor, gasping and panting heavily while he tried to remember what it had been like before the pain.

"Try again, Potter," Malfoy went on after another minute of recovery. Harry managed, with weak and shaking muscles, to look up at his enemy once more.

"I—I…" he said weakly. "I hid it in my P-Potion's textbook," he said, immediately bracing himself for the pain his answer would bring.

He wasn't disappointed, and this time the agony seemed to last even longer, tearing apart any last shred of control that he had over his body as he screamed and tried to escape it. Never, he knew, would he ever feel something this unendingly painful again…unless Voldemort possessed him again…but this was now, and this was longer and unending and so much more humiliating and debasing…

When the pain subsided, he realized that Malfoy had ended the curse again. He regained his breath one ragged gulp at a time, trying to regain just a little equilibrium. "One more chance, Potter," Malfoy said.

"Only one?" he asked, his voice harsh from screaming. "Then what—you'll kill me?"

"Perhaps I'll ask your Weasel friend if he knows," Malfoy suggested. Harry frowned, setting his jaw.

"Touch him or Moody and you'll never know where I keep the Key!" he snapped.

Malfoy smiled coldly. "I do believe we've found the boy's weakness," he stated. Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Tell 'em nothing, Potter," Moody said gruffly. "That lousy piece of filth ain't worth it."

Malfoy's face reddened ever so slightly as his anger grew. "Crucio!"

Moody didn't cry out as Harry had, making him feel somehow ashamed. Instead, the old man twitched and convulsed in the chair, good eye rolled back in his head while his magical eye stared straight at Malfoy.

"Stop it!" he snarled finally, when Malfoy did not let up. "You're going to kill him!"

Malfoy hesitated, but didn't let up. "You'll tell me what I wish to know?" he asked.

"Never!" Harry spat back automatically. Malfoy shrugged.

"Then your friend here will die," he explained.

Harry raced to figure out a solution to the situation, and finally realized that there was none. "I'll tell you," he said weakly.

Malfoy lifted the curse, and Moody panted weakly, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. Charlie looked shocked, determined, and angry all at once, his eyes burning holes in the back of Malfoy's head as he turned to stare down at Harry.

"I'm waiting, boy," Malfoy snarled.

"I—I can only tell Voldemort," he tried. "If I tell anyone else—"

"Crucio!"

Moody had had no chance to recover at all, and one short scream burst from the man's lips as the curse hit him again. His hands clenched and unclenched, fighting the agony, while his back arched and his whole body shook.

"STOP!" Harry shouted, feeling his magic almost burst out of his skin. "STOP IT!"

There was some sort of explosion, though Harry was too busy trying to keep himself from blowing up the building around them. His magic swirled through him and blasted several death eaters backwards into the wall behind him, where they connected with solid crunches. Harry watched through bleary eyes as three dark figures slid to the ground, unconscious or worse.

The other death eaters hesitated, even as Harry's magic receded, leaving him drained. He tried to keep his eyes open, but they wouldn't cooperate. "Moody?" he asked weakly.

His magic tried to stir again, but this time it only prickled at his skin and did not escape. Too many spells, too many missed meals, too much exhaustion. He couldn't do it.

There was no answer to his one question, and he only vaguely felt his head hit the floor as he passed out.

It seemed he hadn't killed Malfoy, Harry realized quickly, though several death eater shapes were still slumped by the wall.

He had been woken with some sort of spell that was like an electric shock, leaving his muscles quivering in a frightening way. He couldn't make any part of his body move, except his eyes, and the disturbing way in which his muscles jumped and twitched on their own bothered him.

As in scared him enough that he couldn't think about it without feeling the first prickles of panic.

His eyes darted around as he tried to find Moody and Charlie, and with a sickening feeling he realized that only Charlie remained. "Where's Moody?" he demanded, voice raspy.

"He's alive," Malfoy said. Harry felt relief wash through his body…until Malfoy smiled. "That was quite the magic that you did, Harry. I was quite impressed, but I'm afraid that it makes me loathe to let you summon that much energy again…the spell I just used on you should see to that."

The death eater gestured, and Harry twisted to look—and saw that Moody was standing there, just barely on his own, and another death eater had a wand to the man's back.

"Give me the information I want," Malfoy said.

"I—I can't," Harry said.

"Don't say a damn word, Potter!" Moody barked.

"I—I," Harry said, fishing for anything to prevent what he knew was going to happen. Flashbacks to Cedric kept popping into his mind, and he was having a hard time keeping his memories at bay. "If you let him go now, I swear I'll tell you," Harry tried. "Let him and Charlie go. If you wait, Voldemort can get the information he wants from me…"

Malfoy smiled again. "Although I would love to watch my Lord torture you into a mindless puddle, Potter, I was ordered to bring him information. That means I must have it _now._ And you will tell me."

"Potter…" Moody growled in warning, his gruff voice even rougher than normal.

Harry thought fast, though the burning in his muscles from the Cruciatus and the other spells was making it more than difficult. There was only one option, as far as he could tell, and it wasn't very good.

"Bastard," he snapped. "You're no better than a mudblood yourself, and here you are—"

A boot hit him in the jaw, snapping his mouth closed sharply, teeth just missing his tongue.

But it was what he wanted. Draw the attention away from Moody. Malfoy couldn't kill him—that was Voldemort's great privilege—so hopefully it would buy enough time for the Order to find them. Or for someone to come up with a better plan.

"Your whore of a wife could do a better job getting information out me," Harry spat, managing to get the whole sentence out before Malfoy acted.

"Electrificus," the man said, voice filled with rage.

Harry's back arched completely off the ground, and he couldn't help the momentary panic as his arms and legs twitched and spasmed of their own volition. It was like he had no control over his body, as well as incredible pain in his joints and bones.

It took him much longer to recover from that spell, and by the time that he could hear something other than his own harsh breathing, only two words reached his ears.

"Avada Kedavra."

He braced himself, and felt green light wash over his body…but he wasn't dead.

Moody, though, had a look of solid determination permanently fixed on his grizzled face. The one blue eye was blank and lifeless, just as Cedric's grey eyes had been, and Harry watched in horror as Moody's legs buckled and the wizard fell into a heap on the floor.

He knew he was hyperventilating, images of Cedric and Moody now both playing in his exhausted mind, and it took Malfoy's sharp kick to his stomach to stop him.

"That seems to have made an impact," Malfoy said coldly. Harry barely heard the man, his eyes focused on the death eaters that were now moving Moody's body over into a corner of the stone room.

"Potter!" Malfoy snapped, kicking him again.

Harry looked up. "Bastard," he snarled. "Bloody, greasy, evil bastard," he almost hissed. "Pathetic, useless, mindless—"

"You've got one minute before I kill Mr. Weasley, Potter," Malfoy said.

"I—no," Harry said. "I'll tell," he said, resigned to how this would end.

"Where is it, then?" Malfoy asked, sounding expectant, though Harry had no intention of giving up anything.

Somewhere in his head, his brain was screaming at him to keep his mouth shut, to give in and let it be done. To save Charlie.

To shave himself.

But he didn't listen to that little voice, the voice of reason. Instead, he said exactly what his heart wanted him to say.

"I shoved it up your bloody ass, bastard," he said loudly and as insolently as he could.

"Crucio!" Malfoy snapped, all control gone.

Harry knew he was screaming, that he was writhing and scrabbling with his bound hands at the floor beneath his body, but he couldn't stop it. It was as if his body had taken on its own mind, one that demanded he escape the inhuman pain that was tearing through his body.

"Harry!" he thought he heard someone shout, but he wasn't certain. "Harry!"

The curse lifted, or at least the pain eased somewhat, and he pressed his face into the stones, not wanting to look up and see Malfoy's sneer, the wand pointed at him for another bout of agony.

Or worse…he was afraid he'd see Charlie's face, void of any emotion…dead. How would he ever face Ron again, if he had killed his brother?

And so he waited, eyes shut, for the pain he almost hoped would come.

But it didn't come. He felt hands on his shoulders and he grit his teeth, jaw clenched with pain, before turning his head. The room was filled with dust now, he noticed in surprise—when had that happened?

And he was looking up at the most welcome sight he'd seen in a long time. Remus Lupin's worried and haggard face.

Hands pulled him up off the ground, and he only got a fleeting glimpse of Charlie, being untied, before there was a loud bang and a gut-wrenching twist, and he was suddenly in the living room of a house. It was the Burrow, he realized a moment later, but he didn't have a chance to look for Ron or anyone else as Remus laid him down on the couch and kneeled down next to him.

"Harry," Remus said.

Harry didn't really feel like responding, and wasn't sure he could, but Remus was persistent.

"Harry, please," Remus said. Harry noticed suddenly the deep purplish bruises forming on Remus's face, and wondered how bad the fighting had been. But he didn't say anything. He was still more interested in just lying there, pain burning in his body but now manageable, and wondering if he'd ever managed to defeat Voldemort, like he had to.

"Harry, Charlie is all right," Remus went on.

"Moody." Harry forced out that one word.

Remus blanched. "I'm so sorry, Harry…"

Harry shut his eyes a moment, forcing himself to accept the fact that the man was dead.

Then, he opened his eyes once more. Harry watched the haggard man run trembling fingers through his thinning and grayed hair. "I don't know how many more times I can take this, Harry. You were almost killed again, just like on the Hogwart's Express…I don't know what I'm supposed to say to you." Harry could see tears in the man's eyes, but he didn't move. He felt too tired and weak to even move his arms, much less smile or lift his head.

Remus cleared his throat roughly, and Harry looked away a moment. When Remus spoke again, his voice was unnaturally weak and unsure. "Poppy will be here soon, too, to look after your injuries. And Albus will come as soon as he can. They arrested several death eaters, but Lucius escaped."

Harry couldn't help a small flinch at the name of the man that had tortured him so ruthlessly and who had killed Moody, and Remus saw it, Harry realized, because a moment later Remus had buried his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry, Harry," Remus said weakly. "I know I said I'd be there for you, but I was wrong, I'm so sorry…"

"No," he finally said. It took a great deal of energy to force out that one word, and he sagged back a little, weaker. Remus looked up sharply.

"Harry?"

"Don't be sorry," he said. "Not your fault," he added, voice raspy…from screaming, he realized.

"Oh Merlin, Harry," Remus breathed, sounding relieved and sorrowful all at once. "For a moment there…"

"'M okay," he rasped, surprised his voice still worked. "No brain damage yet," he weakly joked. Remus looked pained.

"Harry…"

"Move out of the way!" Madame Pomfrey shouted. Harry cringed at the loud intrusion, and the nurse apparently saw his face. "Sorry, dear," she said more quietly. "This house is just packed with people…" she grumbled.

"Ow," he commented, hoping she'd give him something soon. Pomfrey sighed.

"Remus, if you can get him up…" she said.

Harry stiffened slightly from pain and surprise as Remus slid his left arm under his knees and put the other under his upper shoulders. It was a very foreign feeling, to be picked up. He didn't remember ever being carried as a child—he'd always had to walk everywhere, watching while Dudley got to ride in the grocery cart or on his father's shoulders…until he'd become too large, of course, which had been fairly quickly.

"Does it hurt too much?" Remus asked him, snapping him out of his thoughts. Harry shook his head weakly.

"'M okay," he said again, thinking of Moody, and how no one would ever talk to him again. "Go quick."

Despite his assurance that he was 'okay,' Harry cried out as Remus moved his battered body, and his vision went dark.

He woke again with a jarring start as there was a jolt of movement. "Hold still, Harry," Remus said near his ear. Harry realized with a start that Remus was still carrying him, though he had to be struggling with his weight.

"What—?" he started to ask, but his throat was too dry to continue.

"Shh," Remus said. "The Floo's blocked. Dumbledore's pulling us through the wards on his own. It'll be over in a second."

Harry nodded weakly, but another jolt forced him back into unconsciousness.

Lucius kicked him again, hard, right in the stomach.

Harry cried out in pain, trying to escape the hard boot that slammed into his body again and again. But the boot followed him wherever he went. And then Lucius raised his wand…

Moody's eye stared at him, the magical one rolling wildly in its socket. That eye held reproach, anger, loathing…

He couldn't bear it…and suddenly it was blank, empty, dead…

Moody was dead. His fault…he should have thought faster, he should have given in…

"—as if he hasn't had enough trouble," a voice said softly.

"Always getting into ridiculous situations," another muttered, not as quietly as the first. "This so more than any other."

"What do you say he should have done?" the first accused.

Harry decided he'd pretend that he was still asleep and wait for McGonagall and Snape to finish their argument. He wanted to see where it ended.

"I heard what Potter did," Snape went on. "Mr. Weasley says the brat purposely baited their captors. He kept their attention on him. He's an idiot."

Normally, Harry would have been angered by that comment, but somehow he couldn't seem to find the normal hate he reserved for Snape. Ever since… No, he wouldn't think about that. He wouldn't let the sour and pathetic excuse for a wizard get to him. Never again.

"Harry's friends have often commented that he has a 'saving people thing,'" McGonagall countered. "I'm sure he was not thinking of his own welfare at the time."

"_You _may be sure," Snape said sourly. "He would have done better to keep his foolish Gryffindor mouth shut. Pomfrey is not sure he will fully recover from the Electrificus curse that was used twice upon him."

"His foolish mouth kept Mr. Weasley from death, most likely," McGonagall said back. Harry felt tears in his eyes, and forced them to stay behind his eyelids. His emotions were close to the surface, and no matter how he tried he couldn't push them down.

Moody hadn't been saved. Charlie, only because the order showed up just in time. He hadn't done a damn thing to help anyone.

"Mr. Weasley and Alastor were nothing in their game," McGonagall went on, answering Harry's question. "They were less than nothing…they are only interested in Mr. Potter."

"His foolish mouth has once again put him in the hospital, with half the Order mooning over him," Snape said.

"Concerned or jealous, Severus?" McGonagall asked mildly. Harry could just imagine Snape scowling now, but couldn't find the strength to feel happy about McGonagall pretty much scolding Snape.

"Alastor Moody is dead. Charlie Weasley _would _be dead, if I had not figured out Malfoy's location in time. Mr. Potter is only alive because Lucius was not yet seriously trying to get information from the boy."

Snape laughed, a cold, sallow sound. "No, Minervera, I am nothing close to jealous, and it is an insult to me to suggest that I am concerned. I would merely like to point out one thing: the brat is going to get himself killed," Snape said coldly. Harry heard McGonagall sigh.

"I pray every day that it doesn't come to that," she said so softly that Harry almost didn't catch it.

His insides froze at her words. It was frightening and somehow much more real to hear someone else acknowledge that this war could kill him, of all people, and probably not too many years from now. He'd always known it, deep inside himself, but it was scary to know that it wasn't just his own secret. Others knew it could end that way.

As it had for Cedric.

His parents, before that, and Bertha Jenkins. So many others he couldn't name…

And others that he could.

Sirius.

And now Moody.

He rolled over slowly, deciding he should make his consciousness known. "Harry!" he heard McGonagall exclaim. He opened his eyes and blinked, clearing his bleary eyes, and then sat up stiffly. "How are you feeling?" she asked. He rolled his head around and flexed and relaxed numerous muscles, testing his body.

"Stiff, but all right," he said, somehow surprised that he could still make coherent thoughts and sentences. He didn't mention the aches in his joints, the stiffness that made them awkward to move.

Moody no longer had any joints or stiffness to complain about.

"You're not going to be able to stay here for long," McGonagall told him. Harry looked up at her, squinting without his glasses.

"What?"

"Voldemort knows you're here, and he knows that there are very few here to guard you," McGonagall explained. "We've arranged for a place for you to stay for the rest of the winter holiday."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling disoriented and confused. "But—" he started, then stopped. Why argue? He had killed so many already, and he knew that he wouldn't change their minds. "Where?" he asked instead, feeling defeated.

"Snape Manor," Professor Snape cut in. Harry blinked.

"Oh," he said softly. He felt odd still. Everything felt wrong. Had he really been capture and tortured? Had he really escaped?

Had Moody really died? Charlie…was he really alive?

It was as if nothing had happened.

And somehow, that thought took more out of him than everything else.

A/N: Harry angst ahead! Just so you know. Harry's got lots of issues in his life that he's trying to work through, and sixteen is a tough age to be. This chapter was primarily written before the several chapters that come before it, as I had this particular sequence of events clearly in mind just as I was beginning to map out this story. The chapter that is to come next was written before this one, even, and was something that I'd been attempting to write many times before.

As usual, PLEASE review, and I'll post as soon as I can.

Thanks,

Miss Laine


	35. Understanding

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all associated characters do not belong to me.

A/N: Long chapter here, wow! This ends all of the pre-done stuff I have, so it's going to be even LONGER before I get the next chapter up. So savor this one for a while, okay, and let me know what you think. By the way, sorry about any grammar or mechanical errors. I read it over, but it's all blurring together to me.

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Dead.

Dead, dead, deaddeaddeadeadead….

Ever since he had woken, it had been the thing most on his mind.

Moody, Alastor Moody, Mr. Constant Vigilance, was dead.

And it was his fault.

He knew it. He hadn't thought fast enough, he hadn't _acted_ fast enough, and Moody had been killed.

He was frustrated beyond belief with his 'wandless magic,' which seemed content to manifest itself in no ordinary manner, but rather crop up from time to time. This made it more than a little difficult to make it be of any use.

Dumbledore had suggested that it was just a demonstration of what was to come when his magic fully manifested. But at the rate it was going, he was afraid that wandless magic would come to him too late.

And now they were sending him to Snape's _home _for Christmas.

Because he was a liability. Because, once and for all, he _knew _without a doubt that he got people killed.

His mind was a whirl of a million different emotions, and where he was going and how he got there was somewhat of a mystery to him.

All he knew, actually, was that at some point he'd been at Hogwarts, and now he was being jostled about in some very muggle-seeming car.

"You live in England?" he asked.

"_Sir,_" Snape spat. "Where I live is of no concern, Potter."

"Oh."

He didn't really have anything else to say. He wasn't going to apologize for the question.

"That's it?" Snape sneered. "All the mighty Harry Potter can say is _oh_?"

Harry turned to face Snape, letting the man make eye contact and see just how little he cared. "Yes, sir," he said flatly. He turned back to the window after seeing Snape's expressionless face.

"And the mighty Lucius Malfoy has done what no other could—" Snape started to say, but Harry turned sharply.

"Don't mention him!" he all but snarled. "DO NOT mention that name!"

Snape regarded him coldly, then looked away. Harry thought for a moment that he'd say something more…something that would provoke Snape, but stopped. He just didn't have the energy to do it.

He felt, rather than saw, Snape shift beside him, and waited for his professor to speak. "Potter—"

Snape stopped suddenly, and Harry froze, wondering what was wrong. He saw the man's reflection in the window, and followed the dark eyes…

Snape was staring at his hand…ah, he realized, he'd been rubbing his leg, which had been twitching of its own accord at random moments. Rubbing it seemed to calm the spasms down.

But why did that bother Snape, he wondered? The professor knew what had happened to him, and he'd heard Pomfrey filling him in on the residual effects of the curses used on him. So why was Snape silenced?

But Snape didn't speak, and Harry didn't feel interested enough to ask.

The rest of the trip passed in utter silence, and when they arrived at Snape manor and left what Harry realized was a muggle _taxi,_ Snape acted as if no conversation nor anything else had taken place at all.

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Snape Manor, he noted, was old, dank, and crumbling. Ivy climbed most of the walls, though it was drab and half-dead, and the windows were all dark and grimy. Very much like their owner, Harry thought snidely.

The lawns were wild and unkempt—something Harry noticed only because of the many, many years he'd spent tending the Dursley's lawn—and he was fairly certain that the manor had not been lived in for many decades.

One thing was certain, though. Snape Manor clearly reflected its owner.

"Charms keep the manor from looking lived in—from the outside, at least," Snape said curtly. Harry didn't respond, but instead followed the man in the front door—which now revealed a very lived-in home, much like Grimmauld Place must have been decades before.

His musings were cut short rather abruptly, as Snape stopped suddenly, in the front hall.

"There are three rules that you will follow while in my home," the Potions Master snapped as soon as he whirled to face Harry. "First; do not touch anything that is not yours, second; do not bother me, and third; do not go wandering about my home. Is this understood?"

Harry nodded silently, eyes on the floor as he forced himself to face the reality of the situation he was now in.

His nightmare had come true—he was spending Christmas with Snape. All because of The Attack. All because of some stupid mythical or, rather, not-so-mythical fortress that Voldemort seemed to think that he knew all about.

He felt his left leg muscles twitch at the memories, and rubbed his thigh hard with the heel of his hand to stop the spasms, meanwhile surveying the room around him and steadfastly ignoring Snape.

Of course, Snape didn't seem to care that he'd just gotten out of the hospital wing that morning, either. Harry wasn't sure if that was because Snape didn't believe he'd been…tortured…or if it was all still based on principle.

Or maybe he believed that he didn't care that Moody had died.

He knew Snape hated him with a passion, but it amazed him how long the man could carry it on. His own hatred seemed to have burned itself out, and he was much too weary to care.

"Good," Snape said coldly, finally breaking the tense silence that had fallen. He looked like he wished nothing more than to get as far away from Harry as possible. Harry ignored the sour tone, though, unwilling to fight. He'd tried to avoid fighting with Snape the entire term. Admittedly, he did his best to avoid Snape as much as possible—especially since Snape had finally used something from Occlumency against him in public.

_"Of course, you should be fairly familiar with cupboards, having lived in one for so—"_

He'd admitted that Snape had never, not once, used anything he learned from Occlumency lessons against him to anyone else before this year, and now he'd been shown that Snape wasn't above doing it, if he was pushed to that point. Few had any idea of what Snape had meant with those comments, but they'd seen the effects. Harry's hate for Snape had tripled just because of that day, but oddly his actions towards his professor had dampened. He stopped glaring, arguing, protesting…everything. He just didn't want to do anything that involved Snape in any way.

"Potter."

The sharp word cut through his thoughts and he looked up, halting his absent-minded rubbing of his twitching leg muscles. "Yes, sir?" he asked dully. Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously. He looked like he was about to say something, but then changed his words at the last moment. "Your room is at the end of this hall. I suppose you can find it readily enough?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, sir," he said again, picking up his trunk slowly.

"A house-elf will attend to all of your needs, Potter," Snape snapped, then whirled around and was gone.

Harry waited a few moments before breathing out slowly, feeling heavy and tired. He practically trudged down the hall to his assigned room, wondering what Hermione and Ron, both at the Burrow for Christmas, were doing. Dumbledore had regretfully informed him that it would be too dangerous for him to be at the Burrow—and Harry understood that. He did not want Ron and Hermione hurt, just because he wanted to enjoy a happy Christmas.

He wished Remus could've been around for Christmas, or even Tonks. But Snape had refused—for security reasons, supposedly—but Harry knew that it was because Snape wanted to see him suffer, like usual.

He refused to fight the situation though, knowing that the futility of escaping the situation was what gave Snape the most satisfaction. There was no way he wanted the man to have the upper hand while they were forced to live together.

Besides.

He was a danger to those around him, and, honestly, he didn't really care if he was putting Snape in any sort of danger.

He lay back on the bed, sighing as his right leg now began to tremor, the muscles in his upper leg cramping painfully, and rubbed at it, realizing that it was going to be a long, long break.

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Hours later, he was still sitting on the spare bed along the far wall of the room when a house elf appeared. "Would Master Potter be liking some dinner?" it asked.

Harry shook his head. "No thank you," he said wearily, "Not really hungry."

The elf bowed low. "Master Potter has thanked us!" it exclaimed, before popping away, a rapturous smile plastered on its face.

Harry sighed into the empty room, feeling drained and useless. He felt oddly lifeless—it was as if he had been the one to be tortured to death so recently, not the grizzled old wizard.

Because it was his fault, and he knew it.

Moody and Charlie had not been the target of the attack on Grimmauld place—he had. But by the time the Order, arrived, Moody was long dead. Sure, the Order had managed to save Charlie and himself, but Moody had died painfully and slowly.

And he hadn't been able to do a damn thing to stop it. He'd raged, screamed, all but pleaded, and tried to use wandless magic again…and it had been useless. Moody had died, and he'd been of no use to Charlie.

It felt very much like it had all been a dream, and many times he had to catch himself before he convinced himself that that was all it really had been. It felt completely disconnected from the rest of his life—a lot like the ending of the Triwizard Tournament, when he had been alone before Voldemort, trying to survive. When he had recovered from that, at least Cedric's parents had been there to tell him that their son really had died, that he really was gone.

Now, there was no one. One instant he was in the infirmary, lying in a bed and feeling ill, and the next he was alone in a room, in the house of his hated Potions professor, wondering if it had all really happened. He kept forgetting that the old wizard was really dead, and when he remembered, a lead weight would settle into his empty stomach.

That death was on his head, like so many others. And he couldn't escape them.

Magic meant that there were no marks on his body. His ribs were healed, the bruises all faded by potions. There was the ghost of pain in his joints from prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse and the other curse—Electrificus—but Pomfrey had said she hoped the pains would recede with time. The spasms, she said, would eventually fade, though he noticed that she didn't give him a time frame.

Harry half-hoped that the pain would remain. That pain was now what made it real to him—that ache that he could not rid himself of…a constant reminder that time was passing and people were dying while he wasted his days accomplishing nothing.

It was very similar to the pain in his heart…the ache for those that he'd lost, almost entirely through his own actions. So much death…so much guilt.

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When he next checked the time, it was late into the night. So much for Christmas, he thought tiredly. It would be spent alone, in this room probably, and would be lonely and cold. He did not even begin to delude himself by thinking that perhaps Snape would welcome him to eat with him at dinner.

Not that he would want to, but it would have been nice to have a good meal on Christmas…

He had not eaten all day, he knew, but the emptiness in his stomach did not trouble him. A house elf had left a tray with toast on it at some point, but it was untouched, the toast cold and hard. Just looking at it had made his stomach clench in uneasy protest. He did not want to eat here. He wasn't sure he'd ever want to eat again.

Almost another hour passed before he moved at all from his seat on the bed, and it was just to stumble out of the room and across the hall to the loo. Tiredly, he scrubbed his face with cold water, feeling worn down and gritty, but the water didn't help. He still felt dirty and weak.

Just what was he supposed to do, anyway, he wondered bitterly? It wasn't his fault he'd been born, and it wasn't like he, a now-sixteen year old adolescent, could do much against Voldemort and his ever-faithful death eaters. He just felt so useless, so out of control…It was like everything he tried to do didn't matter, because in the end it all came down to the Prophecy. It all came down to whether he could kill the man, the monster, that he now knew was his half-grand-uncle or some such.

A monster that could snatch him from the place that he'd thought was safe.

Frustrated, he slammed his fist against the mirror, striking out at his reflection, and the glass shattered around his hand in a loud tinkling of shards. He hissed in pain as he drew his hand back, slivers of glass embedded all over the back of his hand and knuckles.

He shouldn't have done that, he thought flatly, as he heard the crash of a door being thrown open, followed by thundering footsteps. He stood silently, tentatively trying to pluck the glass from his hand, and did not flinch as the door of the bathroom was thrown open, revealing none other than Severus Snape himself, standing in the doorway with a heated glare fixed firmly on his face.

Harry saw the expression flicker for the briefest of moments, but dismissed it as Snape's eyes seemed to burn even hotter. "Just what the hell happened, Potter?" he demanded.

Harry shrugged, unconcerned by Snape's tone. The anger and the heated words seemed to bounce off of him now, and the sour tones did not register at all. "Mirror broke," he said. "I'll fix it later," he added, as an offer to end this now.

Snape didn't say a word for a few moments, and his voice, when he did speak, was much cooler and calmer. "Go back to your room, Potter, if you're finished. I will clean this mess up in the morning."

"All right," Harry agreed with a shrug, not really caring. He walked past Snape quietly, heading back across the hall to the room he was borrowing. His hand still bled and ached, but he refused instinctually to admit that he was in pain. He'd clean it in the morning and let it heal the Muggle way. It wasn't as if Snape would give him anything to ease the pain.

He laid down on the bed reluctantly, not bothering to change out of his robes nor to get under the covers, and downed half the vial of vision-blocking potion in a few swift gulps. He quickly replaced the lid of the vial and slipped it back into his pocket before efficiently clearing his mind. Instants later, he was forced into sleep.

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He stayed in his room all of the next morning after cleaning up his injured hand, having gotten up well before five in the morning. He was much too restless to sleep for long, and though the potion he took blocked visions, it did not block the nightmares that now haunted him.

Just that night, he'd dreamt of a strange combination of Cedric's death and his own torture. Instead of Charlie and Moody with him, it was Cedric, and he was broken and bloody and dead, like he had not been that night of the Tournament. There was a lot of screaming, his mother's screams, and then at the end it always came down to those dark hallways and the doors that he did not recognize from anywhere.

That was always the part that woke him up. Those dark, unfamiliar passages with their hints of snakes and death. The cobwebs that hung from the doorways seemed so realistic, and sometimes he wondered if he really had been transported somehow that day so long ago, when he'd fallen unconscious into the fireplace at Privet Drive.

And so he spent most of the morning thinking about those dark passages, and wondering if they really were some sort of unblockable vision, some sort of odd vision that let him see the 'Dark Fortress' that Voldemort wanted the key to so badly.

Whatever or wherever the key was…

By noon, though, he was tired of waiting around and wondering when he'd get 'rescued' from Snape's dark home. He slipped out of his room and over to the bathroom. Idly, he noted that the mirror was still broken, his blood smeared on the broken edges. So Snape had not cleaned it up…

He took a washrag from the counter and wet it before cleaning the blood off of the broken mirror-glass. He didn't have any way to fix the mirror, but he swept up all the loose glass into the rag and shook it out into the wastebasket beside the toilet.

It looked much cleaner, he decided, and even the smashed section of the mirror did not look as bad. Snape couldn't possibly say that he hadn't done his best to fix his mess.

For a brief moment, as he went to turn away and leave the bathroom, he was reminded of another mirror, of another shattered reflection…

He shivered slightly as he remembered in a flash that moment…that moment when his godfather had fallen through the arch…

In the hallway, he focused his attention on the drab paintings in order to divert his thoughts. Everything in Snape's house seemed faded and worn out, and he wondered just when the man had last actually lived in the house. Or perhaps he actually liked it this way.

There was no one around, not even any sign that house elves had been in any of the rooms that he looked into, and, despite the way his legs cramped and his joints ached, he made it down a flight of stairs and around several turns without anyone stopping him. There was no one to talk to, not even any paintings that wanted to talk, and he wandered aimlessly, hoping to eventually run into something of interest.

He had been told to stay near his room, of course, but he really didn't care if Snape found him and yelled at him or not. The little bit of professional trust that he'd had for the other man had been vaporized long ago, and he knew, without a doubt, that there was no chance of regaining it. Snape had betrayed him in the worst of ways, and he couldn't imagine there being any way to fix that.

He wandered down a few staircases and around a few more turns, pretty much going wherever his feet took him. He did not care if he got lost or wandered into some part of Snape's home that he wasn't supposed to be. He just needed something to divert his mind, if just for a little while.

It was in a room near the end of a dark hallway that he found his 'diversion.' Of course, it was not what he had wanted.

He stepped into the quiet, dark room slowly, keeping his wand up just in case, and looked around. It was fairly empty, with a chair and a table in one corner and a half-open closet in the far wall. Probably a study or something, he decided.

He turned to leave, uninterested, but there was a soft sound, a quick rattle. He turned back, wand held high. He knew he could not use it during the break, but he kept it with him anyway. Just in case.

He'd rather get expelled from Hogwarts than be anywhere without it. He knew that now.

The rattle sound occurred again, and Harry looked around more.

But there was nothing. Everything was dark and still. There was no one and no thing around.

And then suddenly there was a terrible cold in the room and his breath was visible in the air. Harry shivered hard, wondering what in the world was going on.

That is, until the dementor stepped out of the closet just six or seven feet in front of him, robes billowing around it. Harry stumbled back a step in confused shock. Why did Snape have a dementor in his house? "Expe—" he started to say, but suddenly the dementor seemed to blur, smearing oddly before reforming.

And suddenly he was staring at Sirius. The Sirius of his dreams, the half-dead wraith of a man with a cold, hate-filled expression on his wasted face. Harry paled, backing up.

It was a boggart. It had to be a boggart, he realized with the small part of his brain that was still working. He went to raise his wand, and was surprised to find his hand empty.

There, ahead of him, at the boggart's feet, was his wand. Somehow, he had dropped it. He didn't remember having let it go…

He had to get to his wand, he told himself. He had to pick it up.

But the Sirius-boggart was striding forward, its own wand raised. Harry shook, images from his dreams flashing through his head at an alarming rate.

"No," he mumbled, even as he stumbled back again.

"You killed me," the boggart said. Harry started badly. He hadn't realized that a boggart would speak to him. With Sirius's voice. With his accusing tones, the tones he so often heard in his dreams.

"I didn't mean to," he said, his voice thin and weak. "I promise, Sirius, I didn't mean for it to—"

"Foolish brat," the boggart hissed at him, for a moment melting into the shape of Moody before solidifying as Sirius once more. It stepped closer, its wandless hand raised in a fist. Harry wondered if a boggart could really hit him, and he found out rather quickly as a solid fist met the side of his head, sending him to the floor in a heap. "I'm dead because of you….murdrer."

"No," Harry tried to defend himself. "I—Sirius…I was stupid, but I didn't mean—"

Sirius kicked him under the jaw, and Harry's teeth clacked together sharply, slashing his tongue as well. Stunned by the blow, Harry still tried to dodge past Sirius.

But Sirius intercepted him, hauling him up by the collar of his shirt and forcing his eyes to meet those whitewashed eyes. "You killed me," Sirius told him. Harry shook his head, struggling to free himself.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry," he cried, tears blurring his vision. His wand was forgotten completely, as well as the idea that this was a boggart, and not Sirius, that held him so uncaringly. Somewhere in the background of his mind, he could hear his mother screaming now…he could hear his father…Voldemort's laugh…

He heard Ron and Hermione's screams next, pain-filled shrieks that he could hardly bear to hear.

"Not like this, no," he said, trying to keep his eyes open.

"You killed me," Sirius said again, voice echoing with the gruff tones of another man. "You've failed us all."

"No, no," he said, weak and dizzy. It was like a dementor was sitting in the back of his mind, while at the same time his worst fear—Sirius's hate—held him immobile.

"Murderer."

The word cut through his mind like a sharp knife, shearing through his rambling thoughts with hideous clarity. He could think of nothing else but that word, uttered by Sirius.

"Riddikulus!" an annoyed voice shouted. Harry couldn't focus. He could hear the screams in his head still.

"Not Ron, Hermione," he said softly. "I'm so sorry, Sirius…Don't kill them…I'm what you want…you always want to kill me…kill me…"

He felt a hand on his shoulder, a burning-hot hand that pushed him over onto his back, and he lay there looking up at the ceiling for what felt like an eternity.

How had he ended up on the floor, he wondered? What had happened? Where had Sirius gone?

"Potter," the voice said. Harry felt so cold…

"I didn't want him to die," he said. "I didn't mean for it to end like that."

"Potter, you're delirious," the voice said above his head.

"Cedric shouldn't have been the spare," he said. "I'm the spare…not him."

"Potter, you're in shock. Potter!"

"Aunt Marge said I should've just died with my parents," he added, thinking vague thoughts as he stared up at a phantom image of Sirius, who was glaring with unhidden hatred.

"Potter."

He could see the accusation in his godfather's eyes. "I wish I had run away."

"Potter!"

"Even if I'd starved to death, it all would've been better. If I'd died when I was ten…"

"POTTER!"

"I wish he didn't blame me…I didn't mean to…"

"POTTER!"

A resounding CLAP!

Pain on his face brought him out of the fog. He sat up sharply and almost hit the man leaning over him.

"Snape," he growled, as soon as he found his voice again.

"Professor Snape," Snape said, but Harry hesitated at the oddly hatred-free reminder. "We need to talk."

"No, we don't," Harry said, slowly pushing himself to his feet. He looked around the room, trying to find his wand.

"Here," Snape said, and Harry grudgingly took his wand from the man. "I dealt with the boggart, but I _told _you to stay in your room."

"The Dursleys used to do that to me," Harry said bitterly. "You know that. You've seen it."

"I didn't think—"

Harry cut him off. "Before second year, they put bars on my window and locked me in that bare little room. They put food through a little flap in the door. I thought I was going to die that way, starved in my stupid room, until Ron showed up."

"Potter, we need—"

"Get away from me," Harry snapped, turning away. How could he have let Snape see him that way, delirious and babbling? He could just imagine it…Snape would undoubtedly blurt this out at some point. "Just get away from me."

"You're an idiot if you think you can keep it all inside," Snape snarled back. "You're going to ruin everything with your foolishness."

"I'll handle it as I see fit," Harry growled. "It's _my _life, if you hadn't noticed!" He turned to glare at the other man as he spoke, trying to almost physically drive Snape from the room with his glare.

"You're going to destroy yourself, Potter," Snape commented, voice cold and clinical. Harry shrugged, then pushed his way past the Potions Master.

"So what?" he asked over his shoulder, before walking unhindered back down the hallway the way he had come.

Snape didn't seem to want to continue the conversation, either, because Harry made it uninterrupted back up to his room.

He went in quietly, locking the door on the inside before shoving it shut. Snape didn't want him to leave this room, he thought. Well, he didn't want Snape in this room, and as long as he wasn't bothered, he would do his best not to bother Snape. Hopefully, they'd both make it through the holiday alive.

Not much of a chance at that, Harry decided flatly, then turned and flopped back onto his bed, sighing heavily and trying to calm his roiling emotions. Everything was such a mess inside his head, he decided. He couldn't seem to focus on any one thing and try to overcome it—as soon as he forced himself to face what had happened to Cedric, Sirius's face would come floating into his vision. Or if he tried to calm himself down about Snape, memories of his father's awful attitude as a teen would push their way to the surface.

He didn't know how to deal with it, he realized. That was his problem. He had no idea how he was supposed to deal with everything, and no one had suggested any ways. He'd been dumped back at Privet Drive after fourth year without a clue as to what he should be feeling and doing. Cedric's death had haunted him…still haunted him…and the guilt always consumed him in his nightmares. He could never escape it there, just as he couldn't outrun the guilt he'd felt heaped on himself after his Godfather's death.

There was one way to divert himself, he knew. He rolled off his bed and opened his trunk, digging through its contents to find the small book buried under his clothes and texts.

_'Have you looked for it?_

_Searched long and hard, lost many?_

_Struggle you may, through pain and more,_

_And yet you will never stand before the oaken door._

_More than brawn, you will need,_

_If you wish to make it past the forest of fire,_

_And across the green seas.'_

A knock at the door interrupted his reading, and he looked up sharply.

"Yes?" he asked flatly.

"Potter. Open the door," Snape ordered, angry voice muffled by the heavy door that stood between them.

"I'd rather not, Professor Snape," Harry called back, voice emotionless. He turned back to the book when Snape didn't immediately respond.

_'You may think you know the way,_

_But it is more twisted than you think,_

_And many will perish or be led astray—"_

"Potter!" Snape shouted suddenly, jarring Harry. "Open the damn door!"

"Open it yourself, if you want it open so badly!" he shouted back, finally irritated.

"Alohamora!" Snape snapped, giving in. The door slammed open loudly, bouncing off the wall violently before Snape caught it deftly with one hand. "You will not keep me out of rooms in my own home. When I say open the door, you will do so!"

Harry looked up at his professor and stifled a glare, instead settled for a look of derision. "If you say so…sir…" he said, making his voice sound as dubious as possible.

Snape looked even more perturbed and enraged as he paced the length of the room, then turned back around, robes whirling. "Potter, you and I need to speak, and now."

"I was enjoying the silence," Harry said quietly, setting aside the book.

"You were not," Snape said.

"Huh?"

"Enjoying. Anything," Snape said, voice devoid of emotion suddenly.

"What in Merlin are you talking about?" Harry asked, looking up for real.

Snape stared at him, eyes unreadable. "Over the past months, I and the other professors have watched you fall apart. You have been left alone to recover, and have not done so."

"So now you're watching me?" Harry asked, sitting up fully and facing his professor. "That's…disturbing…"

"Potter, be an adult for once and stop trying to provoke me!" Snape snarled.

"Seems like I'm doing a pretty good job," Harry returned.

"I've been watching, Potter, and it's become fairly clear to me—like a typical teenager, you have no idea how to deal with crises," Snape said, surprising Harry completely.

"Huh?"

"My…indiscretion, Moody's death, Diggory's death, Black's death," Snape said quietly. Harry shrugged.

"I'm fine," he said.

"You're not," Snape snapped. "Nor have you been for years, perhaps."

"It doesn't matter," he tried.

"That is what you tell yourself," Snape said, settling against the dresser across from Harry. "But you couldn't be more wrong."

"You know, it's nice that you're feeling all…interested…in me now, but stay the hell away," Harry said. "Remember, I'm worthless, right?"

"I've never said that," Snape cut in sharply.

Harry laughed weakly. "Yeah, that was the Dursleys…for ten years…and then you said I was a fool and _useless_ or something like that once I got to Hogwarts," he amended. "So sorry I got it mixed up."

Snape made a sound as if he was trying to stifle his emotions. "Potter, stop it!"

"Stop what?" Harry asked insolently.

Snape opened his mouth, then closed it, as if debating what to say. "I wish to apologize."

"What!" Harry said, his attention finally and totally caught. "You what?"

"I wish to apologize, Potter," Snape said again. "Do not make me repeat myself again."

"You don't need to apologize," Harry said shortly. "And I don't accept it, anyway."

"Someone has to help you, since you won't help yourself!" Snape almost shouted.

"I don't want help," Harry responded.

"This has nothing to do with whether you want help or not!" Snape snapped.

"Yeah," Harry said flatly, "it has to do with me living long enough to kill Tom Riddle."

Snape didn't say anything for a moment. When he spoke, finally, it was with a calmer, cooler tone. "Potter, not everything is about the war."

"Isn't it?" he responded tiredly.

His professor was silent a moment. "I do not like you, Potter, nor do I like how you act and react in situations. You are impulsive and ignorant, and accomplish little for the Order."

"Yeah," Harry cut in with a flat laugh. "Hey—I brought Tom back, got my godfather killed, got Moody killed—"

"The way in which you heap guilt upon yourself is not amusing, Potter," Snape almost snapped. "You're more arrogant than I thought if you think that you're to blame for events such as these."

"I am to blame," Harry said levelly. "I've gone over it a million times…being Gryffindor is what's caused everything."

"That's the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard," Snape observed, sneer in his voice and on his face. Harry glared.

"You say it all the time—foolish and impulsive," Harry pointed out. "A damn 'saving people thing,' too," he added, almost mumbling. Snape caught it, though.

"Pardon? Saving people thing?" Snape asked, voice sarcastic.

"What Hermione calls it," Harry said with a shrug. "When she was trying to convince me not to go to the Department of Mysteries."

"And yet you didn't listen to her," Snape remarked coolly.

"Exactly," Harry agreed. "Just like when I told Cedric to take the cup _with _me."

"You seem amazingly able to stretch the truth to encompass your guilt," Snape said.

Harry picked up the book again. "Why don't you leave me alone, Snape?" he asked wearily. "Surely you have some other way to amuse yourself."

Snape audibly growled. "Potter…"

"Snape…" Harry mocked back, opening the book half-heartedly.

"Put down the book and listen to me!" Snape snapped. Harry set the book aside slowly, calmly staring back at his professor. "I have apologized, Potter, for my actions, and I want to help you!"

"I doubt that, somehow," Harry said flatly, unaffected by Snape's words. "Besides—like I said—I don't want any help. I can get by just fine on my own."

"Oh—yes, of course," Snape said sarcastically. "What was I thinking? Obviously you're fine—you have nightmares, don't eat, withdraw from your friends, avoid school work, and are riddled with misplaced guilt—but you're fine. Why didn't I see that?"

"I have nightmares because of the dozens of things I've witnessed and experienced," Harry said. "I can't help it that I'm not able to control it better, like everyone else seems to."

There was silence for some time, as both waited for the other to strike again in this battle. Harry refused to speak, though. He had nothing more to say on the matter, and was already regretting saying anything at all.

"I have nightmares as well—as does Albus," Snape said suddenly. Harry blinked jerked from the silence that had formed.

"Why would Dumbledore have nightmares?" he asked, curious. Snape regarded him levelly.

"Even he has done things he is not proud of," Snape said. "Nor has he escaped death and destruction…I believe he has nightmares of your parents' deaths quite often, actually."

"I supposed Occlumency would keep nightmares away," Harry said weakly.

The mood had changed dramatically, he noticed suddenly. All of the anger had melted out of him, and weariness had crept back in.

He eyed Snape as the man shifted where he leaned, looking uncomfortable.

"Your mind still needs to dream."

"Even if it means you wake up retching," Harry said before he could stop himself.

"Even then," Snape said, no emotion in his voice.

"How do you stop them?" Harry asked suddenly, desperate for an answer.

"You can't," Snape said. "I doubt you'll ever be free of them."

"I keep dreaming that…and then Lucius…" Harry said, shaking his head to escape memories. "I just want to have normal dreams, like I used to have back in first year…before…"

"You've had nightmares of Quirrell?" Snape asked, sounding skeptical. Harry shrugged.

"He did almost kill me, you know. I remember his hands tightening around my throat…but the pain in my scar was so intense I couldn't focus properly…"

"Do you dream of this often?" Snape asked, voice quiet. Harry sighed.

"More often it's about when Ron was attacked on the chess board," he explained, almost forgetting that it was Snape that he was talking to. The calmer tones were slowly relaxing his exhausted, over-worked mind, and sleep was creeping up on him quietly. His mind was fogging over with the need to sleep, and the words just kept slipping out of his mouth. "He and Hermione shouldn't have come with me…"

"If they hadn't, you would have died," Snape said.

"They could have died, though," Harry said. "How will I live with myself, if I lose one of them?"

"You're afraid."

"Damn right I am. I'm terrified," Harry said, eyes drooping and closing. The book slipped from his fingers as he relaxed backwards, incapable of staying awake much longer. "I haven't got anyone else."

"You've got Lupin," Snape pointed out. "Half the damn planet as well."

"I'll lose him, too," Harry said quietly. "I read it somewhere—werewolves live shorter lives, because of the strain of transformations. He's been lucky to live this long."

"Wolfsbane Potion negates most of that," Snape said.

"Still—he's in the Order. Someday soon, there's going to an actual battle, and then another, another, and another. I lose everyone…"

"That's not true," Snape said.

"It may never have occurred to you, Snape, but I don't have a family," Harry said, stirring somewhat from his exhausted stupor. "I don't talk about it—no parents, no grandparents, no uncles, aunts or even cousins." He gave a short laugh. "I don't count the Dursleys," he said shortly, then sighed slowly out. "I don't know anyone who is related to me—except Tom, very distantly, and he isn't exactly available for family chats. There's no one there to talk to."

"You're almost asleep," Snape observed quietly. "We'll talk again in the morning."

Harry was too close to sleep to comprehend what Snape had said. "'M not going to make a sound, promise," he slurred, then knew no more.

0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0

He woke up slowly, feeling disoriented, and was confused when he realized that he was still wearing his robes from the day before. He hadn't changed into pajamas at all, he realized, and wondered why…

And then the day before all came back to him, and he realized it hadn't been a dream…Moody was dead, he'd had his run in with a boggart, and Snape…

It was funny, but he seemed to remember Snape saying he wanted to help him…

But that was impossible. Snape. Help Harry Potter, the bane of his existence?

It just didn't make a bit of sense, and yet he seemed to remember it happening…

He almost started when he looked up from the toast that had been set by his bed and saw Snape standing there, arms crossed and expression guarded. "Er…good morning, sir," Harry said hesitantly, unsure of the man's mood as well as his own. Snape didn't say a word for a moment.

"Black would not blame you," Snape stated. Harry blinked, knowing that his blood was draining out of his face.

"W-what?" he gaped. Snape moved forward, sitting down in a chair by the wall.

"I clearly saw what the boggart became for you, Potter. There is no reason to harbor that fear," Snape said, as if speaking to someone very stupid or stubborn.

"You have no idea—," Harry growled, but stopped as Snape arched a brow, looking skeptical.

"Oh, don't I?"

The potions professor leaned forward in his seat, dark eyes locking with Harry's own.

An instant later, Harry was involuntarily pulled into a memory—Snape's, he realized, as he spotted the dark-haired teen striding through a dark forest…and into a clearing, where dozens of other death eaters awaited the orders of their master…Lord Voldemort.

The young man strode forward, as if he had no fear of the monster that stood at the head of the gathering, and kneeled down at his master's feet.

_"What news do you bring me, Severus?" Tom Riddle asked._

_"My family…they will not willingly give me the secret to the location that you seek," the young Severus Snape said, voice humble but strong._

_"You did not…persuade…them?" Tom asked. Snape looked up, and Harry saw the man's cold, emotionless face._

_"I thought…perhaps…you would enjoy having the opportunity of breaking them," Snape offered._

_There was silence for a moment, and then Tom Riddle laughed aloud. "You never cease to amaze me, my young snake…so willing to do whatever necessary to help me achieve our goals."_

_"You have but to ask, my lord," Snape said softly. _

_"I do ask it."_

_"My family is located in __Liverpool__Hedgerow Lane__, Number 8."_

_"Very good…" Tom said, sounding proud of his follower. Harry just wanted to throw up._

The connection broke as suddenly as Snape had established it, and Harry blinked rapidly, clearing the last images from his mind—of Snape's family, tortured to death on their sitting room floor.

"I sold them out because I believed they were unworthy," Snape said quietly. "Not a day goes by that I do not feel guilty for it…but guilt alone is worthless, Potter."

"I know I made mistakes," Harry said. "I'm trying to do better, but I just can't seem to escape…"

"The point is not to escape—it is to learn to cope," Snape informed him. Harry shrugged.

"I don't have a clue how I'm supposed to 'cope,'" Harry admitted, surprising even himself. "Everyone asks me how I am, and no one ever pushes if I say I'm fine. It's just---with the Dursleys, if I said anything but that, I'd get a good thrashing or locked in my cupboard for a week."

Snape looked dubious. "Surely they didn't lock you in for a week," he commented. Harry eyed his professor, debating with himself. Finally, his desperate need to vent to someone, _anyone_, won out.

"My longest punishment was almost a month," Harry said flatly. "They let me out twice a day—once in the morning, to make breakfast and use the bathroom, and once in the evening to brush my teeth and eat a bit of food. Otherwise, I was locked in."

"Figg never mentioned anything—" Snape muttered.

"How would she know?" Harry asked. "My relatives would just say I had a cold or was grounded—and they were always careful to never mark up my face or arms."

Harry stopped, feeling foolish. "You've seen most of it, from Occlumency," Harry said. "I'm not going to sit here and give you my pathetic sob story. What's done is done."

Snape eyed him. "You mean that, don't you, Potter?"

Harry blinked. "Huh?"

Snape shook his head. "Ever the Gryffindor," he finally muttered. Harry bristled.

"Just what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded. Snape looked up, a smirk twisting his lips.

"'What's done is done?'" Snape echoed with a slight sneer. "You don't wish vengeance…"

Harry thought of the times he'd wished his relatives would all disappear or leave him alone, and realized suddenly that he'd never truly wished them dead or hurt…sure, when he'd been angry he'd wished they'd all get killed in a car wreck, like he thought his parents had died.

But now, he couldn't imagine selling them out to Tom or something similar…although he refused to acknowledge the fact that if they died through some fault of their own, he'd be hard pressed to feel much grief.

Especially since he was fairly certain that his relatives would all jump for joy if they'd heard that he'd gotten himself 'blow up,' as Vernon always liked to imagine.

"I wished it once—on Bellatrix," he admitted quietly, wondering why he was saying this dark secret to the man he hated most of all. "I wanted her to _suffer _for what she did…"

"Hmm…and yet the spell did not work," Snape commented, then smirked. "Oh, yes, I heard of it many times at…gatherings. She seems to think that it means you're weak."

"You don't?" Harry asked, skeptical. Snape eyed him.

"Your ability or inability to cause others pain does not prove your power," Snape told him. "Surely you can see that."

"I suppose," Harry said with a sigh and a shrug. "Still, I feel so powerless when I think of how I'm supposed to _kill _Voldemort."

"I would be astonished if you thought otherwise," Snape stated, and Harry frowned.

"Somehow, I doubt that," he said, voice flat.

Snape had the good graces to look somewhat regretful. "I—I was wrong in my perceptions of you, Potter," the man admitted.

Harry found that statement so funny he couldn't help the laugh that escaped his mouth. "I've never heard you admit you were wrong…even when you said…that…in front of a whole class."

He stopped laughing suddenly, his mood black once more. "I know I have to kill Tom, and I honestly don't know if I'm going to survive the…experience. And you know…half the time I'm not sure I want to anymore."

Snape regarded him calmly. "You should be speaking to Lupin," he finally diagnosed. Harry laughed bitterly.

"Can you imagine what he'd think—he'd be guilt-ridden, thinking he hadn't done enough for me…that my…depression…is his fault somehow. It isn't, but how would I prove that to him?"

"You have a point, odd as it may be," Snape grudgingly admitted. "He would help, though."

"I can't hurt him like that," Harry said.

"And yet you speak to me?" Snape queried.

Harry eyed his professor. "I don't care if I hurt you, if that's even possible, and nothing you can do can hurt any more than anything else you've already done to me."

Snape looked unaffected by the words, though his eyes flicked away from Harry's own for a moment. "I had not seen it that way, Potter."

"That's how it is, though," Harry assured him, looking away for a moment to collect himself. "I don't really give a damn if you tell everyone everything awful you know about me…not anymore. It's pointless to care…Merlin, in a few months or a few years, I might be dead. Hell, it could even be a few days from now."

"The likelihood is high that you will survive, Potter," Snape said.

Harry laughed again. "I know that's a lie, _sir_. You've been predicting my death at Tom's hands almost as often as Trelawney…of course, she's less snide about it and more gruesome."

"You harbor great power, Potter, if you learn to use it," Snape told him.

"Well, there's the problem," he said. "I can do wandless magic—but only when it wants to be used, and I can instinctively create some shields—but they don't work against physical attacks, apparently. I see some castle in my sleep…but I can't figure out just where it is. So far, it looks to me like all that power is never going to be touched."

Snape considered him a moment. "How much research have you been doing?"

"As much as I have time for," he said. "Luna's been helping me a lot, since Ron and Hermione are so busy. We spend at least four or five hours together every week, working on it."

"You have not come to any conclusions?" Snape sounded surprised.

"We think it's along the western coast of France, somewhere just above Portugal. It's big, old, and invisible to muggle and wizard alike. It's undetectable with any known spell, and completely impermeable…except to me, probably, and perhaps Tom. It was built by Godric Gryffindor, but Salazar Slytherin had a hand in it, and perhaps a few others."

He stopped as Snape raised a hand slightly. "Have you told Albus all of this?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "But I can't exactly go searching for it—because then Tom'll know—and nobody else can find it, not even Dumbledore."

"Have you learned anything else?" Snape asked.

"We know it's dangerous…I'll probably have to destroy it, in the end," Harry said.

"Why?"

"All accounts mention terrible things associated with that place. It's cursed, and it's meant for nothing but destruction. It can't help our side—only hurt it—because I'm not strong enough to properly control it," Harry admitted. Snape seemed somehow…impressed.

"It's…interesting to hear you admit to weaknesses, Potter," the man said.

"I have enough of them," Harry muttered.

"I will do what I can to determine the Dark Lord's progress in this matter, but you should continue your research as well," Snape told him. Harry nodded.

"I wasn't going to stop, anyway," he pointed out.

"As for any other issues…you can talk to me whenever you need to, Potter," Snape said, as if very reluctant. Harry blinked, surprised.

"You mean that, don't you?" Harry asked. Snape nodded.

"You are not as alone as you think you are, Potter," he said. "I have been wrong for many years about you…I wish to make some sort of amends." The man paused a moment, seemingly shocked with his almost-human words. "On the condition that you show some maturity and dedication to your studies. And _listen_ when an Order member tells you something"

"I'm sorry I looked in your pensieve," Harry said, his words honest. Snape watched him for long moments.

"I do believe you are," he finally said.

Harry looked away, feeling inexplicably ashamed. "I know how it feels to be the one in the middle of the circle…but…well, I never had to deal with it here at Hogwarts," he said.

"I never wanted to associate what I saw in your memories with your childhood," Snape told him. "Now, I am forced to do so."

"So can we finally call a truce?" Harry asked suddenly. "There's more important things going on than our fighting."

Snape stuck out his hand, and, astonished, Harry took it, remembering another hand just recently extended in…understanding. "Agreed, Potter."

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A/N: I don't know if I really like this chapter, or if Snape/Harry issues can be solved this quickly, but a dramatic event can do that sometimes. I just wanted a way for Snape to see the other side of Harry, and for Harry to be willing to take a chance.

THANK YOU for all the reviews, but in favor of working on the next chapter, which I have yet to get beyond the outline stage, I'm not going to answer reviewers here. Maybe next chapter, sorry!

Tell me what ya think, would ya?

miss laine

P.S. A silly moment here: I just LOVE the word 'deftly.' What a great word, and I'm glad someone thought it up.


	36. Mending

A/N: It's taken me a great deal of time to even _start _this chapter, much less sculpt it into the finished product. Too many exams, too many essays, and WAY TOO MUCH going on in my life to fit this in anywhere. It's gotten to the point where it's a toss up between working on this or sleeping, and sorry, but I often choose sleep. But here it is, and review if you feel so inclined. Thank you, Miss Laine.

00000000000000000 Chapter 36: Mending 000000000000000

Despite their newly-agreed-upon truce, Harry couldn't help but feel on edge as he and the Potions Master sat silently at a heavy oak table, scanning through dusty and ancient books.

If it hadn't been for the steady tick-tock of the clock on the wall behind him, he would have been easily convinced that no time at all was passing—Snape never spoke, nor moved any more than necessary to turn a page. Harry had the distinct feeling that he'd read much of this information before, and he had; just in different versions, depending on what book he happened to have open.

There was nothing new, nothing that he hadn't half-figured out already. The castle was in France, on the coast. It was old, invisible, and impenetrable.

Except by him. And, probably, Voldemort, who could also 'see' the fortress in his dreams.

Finally, when over three hours of silence had passed, Harry felt obliged to speak. The only reaction he'd gotten out of Snape so far had been a few half-glances whenever his arm or leg or shoulder had suddenly felt the need to twitch, reminding him irritatingly of his not-so distant recovery.

He was wasting his time now, though, and Snape seemed to be waiting for him. He cleared his throat, not wanting to interrupt Snape too abruptly, and then spoke quietly. "Don't suppose you've found anything yet, professor?" he asked, careful to use the man's title.

Dark eyes looked up quickly, then back down at the pages before them. "No."

"Oh, er," Harry said, not really expecting that to be all the Potions Master said. "Well, I'm not finding anything new…"

"Nor am I," the dark-haired man finally conceded. With a sigh, Snape shut the book in front of him, a plume of ancient dust stirring. "There must be a better way of doing this," he muttered.

"We—we had one idea," Harry said, remembering what he had discussed once with Luna.

"And?" Snape demanded curtly. Harry rubbed his head tiredly, then answered.

"I see this place in dreams, only not always," he explained as best he could. "And they're not really dreams, nor are they really visions, which the vision-blocking potions would block. They're more like…actually being there, I guess."

"Your point?" Snape demanded mildly, sounding as if he didn't want to sound impatient.

"We found a potion that is supposed to give you sort of out of body experiences," Harry admitted. "It might be enough…"

"Absinthe and nightshade?" Snape asked, then snorted in derision. "You wish to take a potion that makes you hallucinate as well as sick? Are you completely stupid?"

Harry glared. "I _told _you that it was only an idea. We don't know if it'd be enough to let me see the place, and, since I can't exactly get absinthe, then trying it out was out of the question."

"Mmm," Snape mumbled, thinking things through suddenly. "Perhaps a different concoction…absinthe and wormwood…would work. It is less…deleterious, and has the same hallucinogenic properties."

"I'm willing to try it out," Harry said quickly. "We've got to find this place."

"I will think about it," Snape said. "Until then, do what you wish."

Harry nodded, getting up and surprising himself with how stiff he had become. His left thigh muscles cramped up sharply as he stood, forcing him to brace himself on the table and wiggle his lower leg until the cramps ceased.

"The pain is not easing?" Snape demanded. Harry started, not realizing he was being watched.

"It's better than it was," Harry said, shrugging. He stepped away from the table, testing his leg and finding it sturdy enough. "Just surprising me every now and then. I didn't expect to feel this…" he wasn't sure what word he was looking for, but Snape filled it in.

"Old."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I guess."

"Just wait until you're thirty," Snape muttered, then cleared his throat as if realizing he'd almost made a joke. "Be back here at five this evening for supper," he instructed. "We will discuss any possible potion ingestion then."

Harry nodded again, then left the room, eager to find something, _anything_ else to do.

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When he returned that evening, it was after he had done some of his Christmas homework and had written short letters to Ron and Hermione, telling them only vague suggestions of what had happened recently. He wasn't even sure if he'd be allowed to send the messages, or if they would be safe.

Come to think of it, he realized, he wasn't even sure if anyone else in the Order or associated with the Order had been hurt or was in danger. Grimmauld Place had probably been evacuated, he figured, but were the Weasleys safe? Were the Grangers? He'd had no contact with anyone, and, honestly, he hadn't been thinking about anyone much in the past day or so.

He resolved right then and there to change that. He'd been so wrapped up in his depression and hurt feelings that he'd completely forgotten about the welfare of his friends. It was time he stopped moping around, wallowing in his anger at everyone, and started focusing on the priorities in his life.

Friends.

Family. Remus, really.

Killing Voldemort.

Although he really wasn't sure what order he wanted to put those three things in, he knew they were the only three things that really mattered. Voldemort had to die before he could really live…as the prophecy stated…and he couldn't find the energy and strength to do that without the help and support of family and friends.

He just hoped they were enough.

Snape was in the dining room already, two vials in front of him. One, small and dark, held very little potion kept contained with a heavy cork. The other was much larger and held what looked like a calming draught.

The man looked up as he came into the room, eyebrow raised. "Potter."

"Sir," Harry said, feeling the familiar uneasiness return. It felt like Snape could pounce at any moment, whether to attack him physically or verbally he didn't know.

"Are you certain you wish to attempt this?" Snape asked, holding up the smaller vial. Harry hesitated, watching the dark liquid slosh slightly, then nodded sharply.

"If it'll even give me a chance to see this place again, then it's worth it," Harry decided. "I don't see any other choice, really. The books are getting me nowhere."

"I must warn you," Snape said slowly, setting the vial back down. "There are dozens of deleterious effects caused by this potion, namely chronic nausea, muscle pains, headaches, and nightmares. Any conditions you presently have…such as your most current injuries, will be aggravated by this potion, and your predisposition towards having headaches will increase."

"I get it," Harry said, wondering why he did these things to himself. "This is going to hurt for a long, long time after I take it, and you don't think I should."

Snape eyed him flatly. "I would suggest waiting."

"We don't have time to wait," Harry said. "Every day that I don't work to find this place is one more day for Voldemort to find it himself. You can't hinder him any more…my fault…and I can't mislead him in any way…again, my fault."

"Again with the guilt-heaping," Snape muttered, looking irritated. Harry sighed, feeling like he was physically forcing himself to push his anger at the comment aside.

"Look, I say I'm willing to do it, but if you think it's a terrible idea, then say so. I'll find another way to figure out the location…even if it takes months," Harry said.

Snape hesitated, then stood, taking both vials with him. "I would suggest eating, first. There is a light meal for you in the kitchen. Once you are finished, meet me in the sitting room."

Harry nodded, realizing Snape must have been planning to do this from the beginning, and walked into the kitchen, still wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.

When he made it back out to the sitting room, Snape had transfigured the leather couch into a bed that had railings all around it…to keep him from rolling off of it, he figured. Snape sat at a desk in one corner of the room, the vial in his hand.

Harry took it with a muttered thanks, then sat down on the bed, swinging his legs up after toeing of his shoes. "How long will this keep me under?" he asked uneasily, uncapping the vial.

"Approximately eight hours, if it works properly," Snape said from his corner, not looking up from whatever he was now reading. "I have several potions that should negate the effects if you are under too long."

"Well, here goes," Harry said, forcing the waver of doubt out of his voice as he tilted the potion down his throat. Knowing that he was swallowing something just a step above an outright poison.

He expected it taste terrible, and was pleasantly surprised when it tasted like licorice mixed with something sweet. It went down smoothly, and he set the vial down before relaxing back onto the bed.

That wasn't so bad, he thought, smiling, a moment before his stomach suddenly flip-flopped, making him feel exceedingly light headed. "Wow," he said aloud.

"Pardon?" he heard Snape ask. He turned his head, smiling automatically as his vision swam wildly, and found Snape.

"I said wow, Snapey," he said, relaxing back on the pillows behind him. "Everything's swimming. It's…wow."

"I should take points," Snape muttered. "Shut up and pass out already, Potter."

"Mmm, don't want to," Harry said, feeling younger suddenly. "Like staying up, even if I do have to stay in the cupboard."

"I suppose I should have told you that you'd be a little loose-lipped under this potion's influence," he heard Snape say, sighing.

Harry laughed, the first easy laugh he'd had in a long time. "Loose-goose-moose-uh," he said. "Do moose live in England?" he asked.

"Dear Merlin," Snape said, sounding exasperate. "If I didn't want to be sure you don't suffer from some sort of melodramatic panic attack, I'd silence you, Potter. You're wearing on my nerves."

"Umbridge didn't like me either…she used to cut my hand up, to get me to be good…over and over…"

"Potter, you're making very little sense," Snape responded.

Harry nodded. "That's what my potions professor says," he agreed. "I don't have any sense at all."

"I would have to agree."

"My uncle says I'm a stupid good-for-nothing, though," Harry brought up. "Is stupid the same as senseless?"

"How long do you plan to keep on talking, Potter?"

"You know, he used to always say he'd beat the sense out of me…or magic…no, that he'd beat me senseless!" Harry figured out what he'd meant to say and felt quite triumphant. "Dudley sure did…"

There was a long…or what he felt was long…silence after his last comment. Finally, though, Snape spoke again, his voice quiet and tone flat.

"Shut. Up. Potter."

"Hey…d'you think this potion's making me a little odd, sir?" Harry suddenly asked. "Everything's…everything's…getting fuzzy…"

"So kind of you to state the obvious," Snape said.

Harry thought perhaps Snape said more, but his brain was filled with cotton and he couldn't hear anything. A moment later his vision swam entirely out of focus and he completely lost track of reality.

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_Water crashed violently against the rocky shores behind him, sending salty spray cascading up into the air, to be borne by the wind until it reached where he stood, staring up the steep hills at the stone castle that loomed large in front of him. Wind whipped the grasses and trees wildly, shoving him sideways with its force, and he stepped forward, staggering his way up the sodden hill and towards the stone structure._

_He didn't see anyone else, but somehow he knew that others were there, waiting for him to come closer. Was it an ambush, he thought? Or were they there to help him? It didn't matter much, he decided. He had to keep going forward, no matter what. It wouldn't do any good to stay where he was at, standing exposed on a hillside and letting the rain and wind tear through him._

_It seemed like his steps were becoming less effective, he realized, as it took him almost a dozen steps to get even a few feet closer to the fortress. It felt like time was running out, and he sped up, moving his legs faster and breathing harder as he as much as ran up the slope._

_No one stopped him or even appeared as he ran forward, coming slowly closer and closer to the dark stones. He couldn't remember why he wanted to reach them or what he was going to do when he did, but he kept moving, kept running. He had to get to them._

_He had to._

"_Potter."_

_He didn't stop. He had to make it._

"_Harry Potter, turn and face me like a man."_

_He kept running._

"_Silly boy."_

"_SHUT UP!" he shouted, but didn't stop moving. He was so close, he could see the moss growing on the stones, the water dripping down them in dark rivulets that reflected the lightening that occasionally split the sky._

"_You won't make it without facing me first, boy."_

"_NO!"_

_His voice echoed across the hilltop, bounced off the stones and echoed all around him._

_NONONONoNoNonononono_…

_He could see the stones in front of himself now, within arms reach. How had he gotten so close, so suddenly?_

_Without hesitation, he reached out and laid his left hand flat upon them._

"Damn brat," a cold but somehow mellow voice said. He was in a sitting room, watching a dark-haired man lean over a pale, sweating teenager. "I hope this is worth it."

Harry watched the teen shudder and shake in his sleep, left hand spread as if reaching for something. "No, no, no, no," the teen muttered, voice slurred and weak.

"I should never have agreed to this, Potter."

Harry realized very suddenly that he was watching Snape, who was in turn watching over him. His memory flooded back in a sudden dizzying burst, and he remembered taking the potion before falling into this vision. Vaguely, he recalled some of the things he'd said before passing out, and wondered if he'd ever stop embarrassing himself in front of Snape.

Not likely, he decided, as he watched himself toss and turn even more, shuddering from head to foot and pushing away all of Snape's attempts to help him. "Hold still, boy," Snape muttered softly, trying to tuck blankets around him.

But he watched as he pushed the blankets away, again reaching forward with his left hand. Harry realized that, in this vision, he was touching the wall with his left hand. Interested, he removed his hand—

_The vision of the room and the two in it disappeared in an instant, leaving him staring at blank stones. Feeling frantic, he reached out again, placing his hand flat against the stones once more._

"He is searching for it," a cold voice broke through.

He was in a dark chamber, with torches lighting up the stone walls. Drab hangings adorned the walls, and only one chair resided in the room. A throne, really.

And upon it sat Voldemort, dark robed Death Eaters kneeling before him. He looked angry, Harry noted, and the anger was clearly directed at one Lucius Malfoy, who had just spoken.

"Hass he found anything?" Voldemort demanded.

"It is in France, possibly. It's invisible and undetectable by any spell, dark or otherwise," Lucius said, practically cowering away from his master. "I—we have not learned anything else, my lord."

"Isss the boy aware of the sssspy?" Voldemort asked quietly.

"No, my lord. He does not suspect at all," Lucius assured the dark lord. Harry realized with a cold stab of fear that this meant someone, someone who he trusted, was spying on him. Was a Death Eater, or at least a Death Eater wanna-be. He forced that fact into his brain, willing himself not to forget it, and then refocused on the conversation as Voldemort spoke once more.

"Ssseven of you will sssearch the coassst linesss until you find thisss plassse," he hissed. "If you fail me I—"

Voldemort stopped suddenly, looking around sharply. "He iss here!"

Everyone stood suddenly, knowing what their lord meant. "Foolss! Not physically!"

_Harry realized that Voldemort was talking about him. He tried to pull back from the stone, but suddenly he couldn't move._

_Searing pain washed through him, starting from his scar and dripping down through his body, and he cried out, trying to rip himself free of the stones. _

_But they didn't release him. Instead, he felt cold, slimy tendrils of something trickle through his brain, scrabbling through is skull as if searching for something…and, as Harry forced himself to Occlude, finding nothing._

_The fingers withdrew, and Harry sagged back, exhausted._

_He was too tired to realize that he was free of the stones until he looked up again and saw that he was staring at gray stones, lightening and rain all around him. "What was that?" he wondered aloud, unwilling to touch the stones again until he knew how to get free._

_He stood, until then not realizing that he'd sunk to the ground, and staggered back from the wall…_

_Only to feel cold arms wrap around his chest, pulling him tight against something boney…he looked down, struggling wildly, and caught glimpses of pale, spider-like hands clutching him tightly, pulling him away from the fortress._

_Voldemort_ _had him, held tight to his thin chest so that Harry felt for a moment that he could even feel the monster's heart beating. "Let me go!" he screamed, struggling harder._

_Voldemort_ _laughed aloud, suddenly throwing him down onto the ground. "Pathetic boy," he hissed. "Foolish to think yourssself so powerful."_

"_Get…away from me," Harry panted, struggling back to his feet even as the agony in his scar redoubled, forcing tears from his eyes at its intensity. "You can't hurt me here," he bluffed._

_Voldemort_ _sneered, stepping forward with his wand raised. "I don't have to, stupid boy!"_

_Harry bit his tongue hard, bracing himself, and was not surprised. The pain didn't come from any curse…rather, it came from everywhere at once, driving him to his knees though he did not shout out._

_At least, not until the agony grew even greater, making him lose all focus on reality as the pain stripped away his every thought._ _A scream tore from his lips as he fell face first onto the muddy ground._

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He woke to what felt like someone slamming a boat oar across his face. Realistically, he knew it was just a hand patting his cheek gently in an attempt to rouse him, but his nerve endings thought differently. They reacted as if he were being burned alive, and he opened his eyes with a snap, staring up into the dark eyes of Snape.

"It…" he started to say, then began to cough roughly, his ribs protesting wildly while his head swam painfully.

He tried again, this time more slowly. "It worked," he rasped. "I—I found out more information."

"How do you feel, Mr. Potter?" Snape demanded.

"Uh…" Harry took a quick assessment, wiggling his fingers and trying to move his legs. That proved to be a mistake, as his previously calm thigh muscles in his left leg suddenly seemed to realize that they were hurting and twitched anew before cramping painfully. "Ow," he said stupidly, staring at his leg. He'd never in his wildest nightmares imagined he'd be the one sitting there wondering how he'd gotten himself so messed up. He'd always thought it'd be someone else…at least someone older, anyway. "Everything hurts," he reported. "Nothing too unexpected, I guess. Uh…I guess I feel kinda nauseous, but not that bad really. I just…ache," he summed up. Snape nodded, handing him a flask.

Harry drank without comment, throwing the icy liquid as far back into his throat as possible before swallowing. Immediately, some of the pain was alleviated as well as his nausea. His head cleared perceptibly and he blinked a few times in order to really get his bearings.

"What did you learn?" Snape demanded.

Harry took a moment to collect himself. "Voldemort's got a spy," he said first. The most important thing. "Someone's in Hogwarts spying on me and knows what I've found out so far. I can't even think of who it might be, though."

"I have a few…suspicions," Snape said softly. "But do go on."

"Um…I still don't know where the castle is, but I've got a better idea of the terrain. We might be able to narrow down the amount of coastline we have to search. And something…else…"

"Yes?" Snape queried.

"Did you ever try to tuck blankets around me when I was out?" he asked.

Snape looked insulted. "Pardon me?"

"Hm," Harry said, taking that as a no. "Well, I _thought _that I was having…er…well, when I touched the stones, I got sucked into visions that brought me back here. And I saw _you _telling me that you shouldn't have agreed to this and some other stuff, and then I saw another one in which Voldemort was talking to Lucius about the person spying on me." He sighed. "So I guess that one wasn't real either."

Snape looked thoughtful. "I think, perhaps…that you did in fact see truthfully."

Harry stared, then tried hard not to look like he had. Snape was as good as admitting that he'd _tucked _him in! "So that means…what, I see the real world when I'm in contact with the stones in my 'visions?'"

"So it would seem."

"So…now what?" Harry asked, feeling somewhat confused about everything. "I do it again, try to figure out just where the heck I'm at…or do we narrow down the search to those chunks of coastline that are rocky with steep hills behind them?"

"You will _not _be ingesting that…potion…again for some time, Potter," Snape snarled. "You're very lucky that so far your only side effect has been muscle tremors."

"What?" Harry said, and looked down, following Snape's glare. Sure enough, his left thigh muscles were twitching without his say-so. Even worse, he hadn't realized it had been happening. "Shite," he swore softly.

"Language, Mr. Potter," Snape chided mockingly. "You quite literally asked for it."

"What—" Harry started to ask something, but Snape cut him off.

"We will examine French coastline, Potter, and attempt to narrow down the possibilities that way. But that doesn't happen until _you _are recovered enough to stand on your own."

"I'm fine!" Harry protested, swinging his legs out of bed. Before he could even set them down on the floor, though, his left leg suddenly seized up, burning pains slicing through him from hip to toe.

Clenching his teeth and ignoring Snape's mocking smirk, he slowly maneuvered himself back into the bed. "You're to stay in that bed until I come back," Snape ordered, turning to leave. "If I even find out that you've move so much as a foot from that bed, I will forcibly restrain you."

"Fine," Harry grumbled, laying back. The pain in his leg eased as he relaxed, and he fell into a light doze.

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He woke up on his own with the distinct feeling that it was much, much later than it had been. There was a platter holding a steaming bowl of soup next to him, floating idly in midair, and floating next to that were several books that had "Atlas" scrawled across their fronts.

Although he didn't actually feel hungry, he forced himself to drink the soup, knowing that he hadn't eaten in quite some time. After the first few swallows, though, his stomach seemed to realize that it needed fed and he was able to finish the entire bowl. Besides filling him, it warmed him up considerably. Oddly, he hadn't realized until then that he'd been cold.

Sighing, he stretched on the bed, feeling his spine pop and creak with the movement, and rubbed at his right shoulder, which was cramped up with painful knots. They slowly eased, leaving him feeling weak but otherwise pain-free. He didn't even want to think about walking, but an urgent need was making itself known.

Somehow, he had to get from this stupid bed, out into the hall, down the hall, past the dining room, past the kitchen, and to the bathroom. And soon, his bladder was telling him quite urgently.

He forced himself to sit up, swinging his legs out of the bed as he had before and slowly settling onto feet that seemed quite happy to avoid any weight-bearing duties. He was amazing when he was able to stay standing after only a few attempts, and began walking towards the door of the sitting room.

Sometime about halfway to the door, his steps degraded to a half-shuffle, but he kept moving, slipping out the door and stumbling his way down the hallway towards the bathroom. He felt ancient, well past his sixteen years, and the way in which his joints ached and his muscles felt absolutely useless served to only increase his perception of his age.

By the time he reached the door, he was out of breath and spots were dancing around in front of his eyes, but he managed to use the toilet without falling over, and even washed his hands and face without too much difficult. That came when he attempted the walk _back _to the sitting room, where the books he needed still floated patiently, waiting for him.

His harsh breathing echoed heavily in his ears, and he staggered heavily when he clumsily bumped into the wall when he turned a corner. He could barely see the hallway just a few feet in front of himself, and he had the odd feeling that he wasn't wearing his glasses—although he could feel their slight weight on his face.

"Mer…merlin," he breathed, the soup in his stomach threatening to resurface. He stopped walking for a bit, trying to catch his breath, and rubbed his leg, trying to physically crush the twitches that were even now beginning in his muscles. "Stop it," he muttered, blinking slowly and trying to figure out just how much farther he had left to walk.

He was just pushing himself away from the wall once more when he heard footsteps. Coming towards him. A chill went through him as his mind flew to the suddenly only plausible explanation—death eaters were in the house, coming to kidnap him.

He felt for his wand, but it wasn't in his sleeve, nor was it tucked in his waistband, in his pocket, or anywhere else. Panic was building up in him now, and he faced the source of the footsteps, hand outstretched.

"Potter!" a sharp voice exclaimed, the same instant that Harry's panic reached its peak.

A red light exploded from his outstretched hand, catching the dark figure straight in the chest and flinging him down the hallway, until he slid to a stop somewhere out of his foggy sight. An instant later, his brain caught up and he realized with a chill that he'd just _stunned _Snape. Any possible truce they could have had was gone, Harry thought miserably, wondering if he was even capable of crawling forward far enough to find where the man had come to rest.

In the end, he didn't have much choice, and he shuffled forward, finally, after what felt like miles, reaching the still unconscious professor. "Dammit," he muttered, breathing out heavily. "Merlin…what've I done now?" he asked no one in particular.

He knelt next to Snape, noting that the man was, thankfully, still breathing, but had a large lump on the back of his head and his wand had dropped from his fingers. "Er…enervate?" Harry asked almost, hand aimed at Snape.

Nothing happened, though, and Harry thought about going for his wand. Just imagining how far way that would be, though, stopped him from following through. There was only one other option, then, and though he didn't want to he grabbed Snape's wand and raised it unsteadily.

"Ennervate," he tried again.

"Ah!" he yelped. Burning pain seared through his scar as the spell worked, but even as he dropped the wand in order to clap a hand to his forehead, Snape stirred, sitting up sharply.

"Potter! You stupid fool!" Snape snarled before glaring at him fully.

The glare turned to more of a stare, and Harry looked back owlishly, rubbing his scar even as he sat back on his heels, too weak to stay just on his knees. "Thought…er…" he tried to explain, but couldn't.

"Did you really think that death eaters would infiltrate my home without my knowledge?" Snape demanded. "Your idiocy astounds even me, Potter!"

"Well…uh…" Harry floundered, wishing Snape would stop talking so loud and would let him just go back to sleep.

"Where is my wand?" Snape demanded. Harry felt for where he had dropped it and handed the length of wood back to its owner, wondering why his hands were shaking so much.

Snape took it, looking it up and down once before swiftly rising to his feet. "Get up, Potter. If you made it this far, you must be feeling better."

Harry shook his head, worried that by opening his mouth to answer he'd be inviting his stomach to reject the soup.

"Now!"

Harry shook his head again, feeling even less clear-headed, and groaned aloud when Snape took his arm and hauled him to his feet. He watched as Snape looked him over, seeming to realize that he wasn't anywhere near all right, and then his vision lurched even more.

"Potter, what have—"

Harry didn't even have time to warn Snape before he threw up violently, soup reappearing in a rush and quite effectively soaking both his own right arm and Snape's left side.

Then, he blacked out.

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It was getting to be a regular occurrence, he decided somewhat moodily. Passing out awkwardly, then waking up in a strange bed, staring up at a strange ceiling and wondering why life couldn't be even a teeny bit normal. Because it was really starting to wear on his health, he complained silently. He didn't know how much longer his brain could deal with passing out and waking up repeatedly. It was just…ridiculous.

"Awake again, I see," Snape commented from somewhere behind his head. Harry tilted his head back, ignoring his stiff muscles, and saw that Snape was seated where he had been previously, again reading some book.

"Uh, I guess so," Harry responded dumbly, feeling supremely confused. Snape didn't sound mad…just normal. Slightly mocking, with a hint of snideness.

"Wishing to perform any other spells upon my person?" Snape asked. Harry shook his head, then slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position.

"I thought you were a Death Eater," Harry pointed out. Snape sneered at him, turning back to his book.

"Of course. In my home, without my knowledge. Because that happens all of the time, Potter," Snape said flatly. "Next time you feel the need to attack me, be warned; there will be ugly consequences."

"Well, it's not like I was really thinking straight," Harry said. Snape stared at him, expression even.

"What were you doing up in the first place, Potter?" he demanded.

Harry knew he was turning red. "Er…I had to find the toilet," he finally explained.

Snape sighed. "You should have waited, boy," he said. "I was alerted the instant you woke up, and I would have been down in a few moments."

"Well, like I said, I was a little fuzzy on things," Harry said again, feeling defensive. "I didn't even remember to take my wand with me," he added.

Snape suddenly looked at him sharply. "What?"

"Huh?" Harry said, surprised at the sudden interest. "Uh—I just said I was fuzzy on things."

"No, about your wand!"

"Er—I didn't remember it?" Harry asked, feeling for a moment as if this were some exam.

"How did you stun me, then?" Snape demanded.

Harry recalled the wandless spell suddenly. "Um…sometimes I do wandless spells…you know, when I really need something to happen, I think."

"No, I do not 'know,'" Snape echoed mockingly, then turned serious once more. "How long have you been capable of these…wandless…spells? How many have you performed?"

"It happens occasionally. Since a couple of months ago, I think. And it's only happened three or four times," he answered. "Why?"

"Have you spoken to anyone about this?" Snape demanded, ignoring his question.

"I told Dumbledore about the _Lumos_ I did. He said it might just be accidental magic, but he didn't make it sound like it was that big of a deal," Harry said.

"Fool! Did you tell him that it was a specific spell? If I am to assume it was similar to this…occurrence, then it was the spell you needed, at the time you needed it! Purposeful wandless magic!"

"I still don't get—"

"Potter! Listen to me closely, and try to get this through your head—wandless magic is something only the accomplished witch or wizard is capable of. Very few perform any before they are forty, and fewer still are capable of performing spells of any strength. Unless these incidents are exceedingly coincidental—"

"So you're saying I'm doing something I shouldn't be able to do, at an age when it should be impossible," Harry summed up, feeling both interested and tired. Honestly, he didn't want any new abilities. He just wanted to be left alone.

"For one, Potter, you've defined the problem correctly," Snape said flatly.

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A/N: I feel incredibly bad that I left you guys so long that some of you thought I'd abandoned this story. I haven't nor will I, but it's getting difficult to write and even more diffucult to type. Classes are killing me, and my grades have to come first.

Anyway, this one's a little longer, so as to give you something more to read, but I have to warn you that the next update may be a long time coming. Classes will be starting up again soon (It's winter break), but I'm going to keep at this. Towards the end, it'll get quicker, too, since I know how it goes.

BTW, there are only about eight-ish chapters left of this. I'm working on a new, seventh-year canon story that I'll post someday, but for now rest assured that come hell or high water I will finish this thing.

Thanks,

Miss laine

PS: Sorry about any grammar mistakes or spelling errors. A few of my more…amusing…mistakes have been pointed out, but honestly if I went back and edited these I'd probably never post. Editing essays for school is really my limit these days.


	37. Interlude

Disclaimer: Not mine, as per usual. I wish it were, because then I'd be rich, have a job, and know how the seventh book is going to end.

A/N: I know, I know, it's been a LONG time. I don't have anything to say, except I'm going to finish this thing. I've actually probably only got about five chapters left to this, and meanwhile I'm getting more involved in my seventh year fic, which will NOT be a sequel to this. It's a continuation after book six, and I've found some of my thoughts cropping up in other stories, so I must be somewhat on the right track, right?

Anyway, sorry again and enjoy.

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Chapter 37: Interlude

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Harry took a large bite from his toast, savoring the thick jam, and flipped a page in the book with a lazy movement of his wand. More archaic and faded writing met his eyes, a small and worn sketch the only interruption on the right page. He stifled a tired sigh, instead forcing himself to at least skim the words and wait for something to catch his attention.

"Is that book yielding nothing useful?" Snape asked levelly. Harry shrugged, eating another bite and swallowing before answering.

"Not much, honestly," Harry admitted. "A few comments on how to make impenetrable fortresses, but not much else. Stuff about using blood magic and dark spells. Nothing about _where _you might find them."

"Interesting," Snape said flatly, giving away no emotion.

"I could probably make an invisible and unplottable matchbox, from what I've read, but I couldn't find one," he grumbled.

"Indeed."

He looked up, gauging Snape's expression as one of mild rebuke before looking back down at the book. The past day and a half had been tense between them…as in like having a lion and a snake in the same room…and Harry was never really sure on how their truce now stood. Sometimes, it seemed as if they were getting along rather well.

Like when Harry had fallen in the living room when his left thigh had cramped up suddenly and he'd toppled over, surprised. Snape had been beside him almost instantly, checking the limb quickly and giving him a muscle relaxing potion without a word. Harry had accepted it gratefully, albeit warily, and nothing more had been said.

Other times, though, Harry was fairly well convinced that Snape still hated him with a fiery passion. Like when he'd caught Harry trying to smooth his wild hair down. Or when he'd asked about Snape's years at Hogwarts, not thinking about what it probably had been like with the Marauders there to torment him.

_Not that he probably hadn't deserved it, _Harry thought honestly. _Or at least seemed like he deserved it. _

He turned another page, giving up on the other, and watched Snape do the same with his own tome. That pretty much summed up their days, he thought with frustration. Nothing getting done but reading.

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"Lupin will be here in an hour," Snape announced. Harry looked up from his bed, where he had been ordered to go when the third muscle spasm had occurred at the breakfast table. "He will be escorting you back to Hogwarts."

"Oh," Harry said dumbly, getting out of bed quickly. He was still wearing his day clothes, unwilling to be caught unprepared anywhere. "I'll…um…pack?" he said.

Snape nodded. "See to it that you do."

And then he was gone.

Harry stood still in the middle of the room for a few moments, collecting himself, and then moved to the wood chest open by the wall. It held the few things that had been shipped with him to Snape's home, and he carefully put away everything that he'd taken out during his stay.

Which wasn't much, he realized. Everything was within a few feet of the trunk, and he was able to pack it all up within a few minutes. He looked around the room, realizing very suddenly that it reminded him of a guest room that only got used once a year or less. Somewhere to put someone that was usually unwanted.

Perhaps Snape really didn't like him very much at all, Harry mused. It had been somewhat hopeful on his part to think that the dour man had changed his opinions of him even slightly.

He levitated the trunk out into the hallway and down the stairs, letting it come to rest by the front door. Then, he headed for the library, planning to get a little more research done before he had to leave.

Not that it was going to help, he thought bitterly. Snape was adamant about refusing him the potion that let him into the visions of the fortress he sometimes had, and Harry hadn't been able to change his mind. The sense of urgency that had filled him since the first time he'd used the potion had only grown with the passing days, and he was more and more often wondering how long it would be before he could use it again.

It was such a simple, direct, and sure way in which to get information, and yet Snape denied him every time. This frustrated Harry to no end, but he forced himself to be pushed towards old texts that actually weren't quite old enough to be of much help. Fortresses, the real ones, had not been built in many hundreds of years, and the books just couldn't explain how or why they had been made in the first place.

And, especially, they couldn't tell him anything about just where they might be.

But the potion could, he thought suddenly. It would give him the chance to look around and figure out just where the hell he was in those visions.

The risk to himself would be worth it, he figured. If he let himself recover just a bit longer, perhaps a week, he'd be strong enough to take the detrimental after-effects and get what he needed.

But Snape…

Snape was in the library, Harry realized, noting that the man was bent over a book, back to him. He hadn't seen him yet. Snape was _not _in his lab.

And Harry had heard the password the other day, when he'd had a half-seizure of the muscles in his back, sending him to the floor in a heap of pain. Snape had dragged him up to his feet and then down the hall, and Harry had heard the words in a haze.

Before he could change his mind or rethink his sudden decision, Harry turned, heading with sure steps towards the door of the lab, across from the sitting room.

"Slytherus Locialis," he said quietly, hoping Snape had not changed the password in the past twenty-four hours.

The door slid back noiselessly after a moment, and Harry entered with some trepidation, wondering what other possible spells or wards could be on the room.

But nothing stopped him from entering, and he went immediately to the shelf of potions that Snape had specifically brewed for him and his condition. The hallucinogenic potion stood out easily, its flask filled with the blue-purple swirling mixture to a little over halfway.

Harry gently took it from the shelf, unstoppering it and wincing at the pungent smell though he remembered its rather nice flavor.

Fishing through the drawers of the work table, he found an empty vial and stopper. It only took a small amount of the potion to fill the vial, which he stoppered quickly and slipped into his pocket. It barely looked like anything was gone, he decided as he reshelved the potion, and Snape probably wouldn't notice for at least a week, he hoped.

He slipped out of the office as quickly as he had come, making sure the door closed properly before stealing towards the front hall.

Just as he finished tucking the vial into the bottom of his trunk, he heard footsteps behind him. He occluded sharply, almost instinctively, and hoped it wasn't too obvious that he was hiding something.

When he stood and turned to face Snape, then, his face was calm and collected, with no trace of his guilty afternoon actions. "Lupin is in the sitting room – he came through the floo network."

Harry nodded. "Thank you, sir," he said quietly before brushing past the man and hurrying to the other room.

Remus was examining an open book, head tilted and sandy hair falling in his eyes, but when Harry came into the room he looked up instantly, a smile spreading across his face. "Harry!" he exclaimed, sounding overjoyed, relieved, and worried all at once.

Harry allowed his guardian and friend to hug him tightly, though he didn't like the coddling, and stepped back a bit as Remus released him. "How have you been, Harry?" Remus demanded. "I couldn't get anything out of Albus or Snape about you! They wouldn't even let me visit you until now."

Harry shrugged, flopping down into a chair. "I suppose it wasn't safe," he guessed. "It's not like we were safe at Grimmauld, so why assume we would be safe here?"

Remus sighed, sitting down as well. "I guess you're right, Harry," Remus agreed. "There's a mole, and we don't know who it is. Everyone passes every check, and yet information is still leaking out. No one can figure out who it might be."

"Dumbledore can't figure it out?" Harry asked, surprised.

Remus eyed him. "You know he's not omnipotent, Harry. He's just as stumped as the rest of us. Everyone in the Order is a well-trusted friend…or so we thought."

"I wish I could help," Harry admitted.

"You've done plenty," Remus assured him. "And I mean that. Molly's been telling everyone who'll listen how you saved Charlie's life."

"She's wrong," Harry said lowly, images of the short stay on the stone floor at Lucius Malfoy's feet flashing through his mind. "I didn't do anything, and Moody—"

"Died just as he figured he would," Remus cut in. "Just maybe a week or two earlier than he would have imagined. He knew he was going to die in this war, and I'm sure he'd do it all again to keep you and Charlie safe. Any of us safe, for that matter."

"I know," Harry agreed weakly. "I just…it's hard to explain."

Remus sat in silence a moment, and Harry looked up after a bit, wondering what was wrong. The werewolf had a lonesome, lost expression on his weathered face, as he were thinking of something old and long-done. "Remus?" Harry finally asked.

"Sometimes," Remus admitted, "Sometimes I think Sirius wouldn't have died if I'd been a better friend. A better person. More loyal, or something. But…I just don't see it happening that way. I did what I thought was best, and I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."

"I know that," Harry said. He tried to think of something more normal to talk about, and did very quickly. "Hey—Professor Snape and I seem to have made a truce," he said.

Remus looked surprised, eyebrows raised. "Really?" he asked, sounding somewhat skeptical. Harry nodded.

"Yup," he assured his guardian. "It just took some fighting, a boggart, some more fighting, and we got it all sorted out. Well, most of it…some of it," he explained. It wasn't like he and Snape were going to be friends any time soon, but they could work together without fists getting involved.

"That's good," Remus said quietly. "Your mother would have been proud of you…James, too, after she hit him."

Harry and Remus sat in silence again, each lost in thoughts of Lily and James.

"So…are you escorting me out of here or what?" Harry finally asked, standing again. Remus stood as well, nodding.

"Albus has figured out a way to get you back to Hogwarts, and the wards on Gryffindor, the Great Hall, and pretty much every hallway have been strengthened in order to hopefully prevent any…mishaps…this term. It's just going to be long and a pain."

"Nothing new then," Harry muttered. "My stuff's by the door."

"Bring it, and we'll get going," Remus told him. Harry was more than happy to oblidge.

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Remus was right, and the trip was long, tedious, and tiring. Mostly, it involved muggle transport in first a taxi, then a bus. Harry was surprised that this was Dumbledore's great plan to get him back to Hogwarts, but then again Voldemort probably wouldn't expect it or plan for it. He'd be watching more common means of transport.

When they finally made it into Hogwarts, Remus's concern had turned to downright awkwardness about how to deal with Harry, who had had two different spasms occur during the trip. Exhaustion and sitting in a cramped position had made his muscles cramp up several times, and Remus had been little more than useless each time.

Harry took care of it by himself, dosing with muscle relaxant each time, but Remus had still seen the pain on his face when the spasms hit. "I'm all right," he said, once they were inside Hogwarts. Remus looked over.

"Huh?" he said smartly.

"You don't have to act all…whatever…around me," Harry said, sighing. "Snape said the effects should wear off eventually." He walked forward, luggage trailing behind him now that he could use a levitation spell. Remus followed after a beat as they headed up the stairs towards the headmaster's office.

"I know," Remus defended himself. "I just…I just don't like to see what this war's doing to you, I guess," he admitted candidly. Harry stopped and turned, surprised.

"It does things to everyone," he stated plainly. He figured he'd gotten off lucky. Sirius was dead. Mad-eye was dead. Dozens of others…dead or wounded badly. He'd been lucky for certain. "I'm going to be fine, so it's not a big deal."

"Your mother…" Remus murmured, looking sad. Harry ignored the comment and turned to the statue guarding the headmaster's office, but before he could say anything it moved aside, allowing him up the circling staircase.

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"Harry!" Hermione cried, rushing to him. He was surprised at the vehemence of her hug, but he figured he shouldn't have been all that shocked. She'd certainly heard most of what had happened to him, as had Ron.

"Hey, how was break?" he asked her, not wanting to talk about anything serious with so many people around.

She seemed to realize this, and allowed him to divert the conversation. "I stayed with Ron, at the burrow," she told him, looking slightly guilty.

"What's wrong?" he asked, confused. She looked up at him, smiling weakly.

"I just…I don't want you to be jealous," she said slowly.

"Of you and Ron?" Harry asked, confused.

"That I got to stay at the burrow!" she told him. "I know you wanted to, but—"

"Hey, Snape and I didn't kill each other, obviously," he said. "Actually, I think we're kind of…at peace…right now," he tried to explain. "I think we sorted out a few things."

"That's good!" Hermione said, clearly glad he'd ended the six-year hate with Snape. "Did you work on…your problem?" she asked, referring to his search for the 'dark fortress.'

Harry shook his head, even as he saw a red head appear in the throng of students. "No, but we tried. Nothing's helping."

"Over here, Ron!" Hermione shouted, seeing the red-head now. Ron turned, smiled, and made his way through the students.

"Need to grow a little taller, mate," Ron said, clapping him on the shoulder before sweeping Hermione up into a hug. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Look—we should go somewhere to talk," he broke in. His friends must have noticed his serious tone, and together they hurried back up to the third floor and the Room of Requirement.

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He didn't tell them about the potion he'd stolen from Snape.

He didn't know why, but when it came to that part of his break, he skipped any mention of ever even using it at all. Partially, he didn't want his friends to worry, but he also knew that Hermione would probably go to a professor about it and Snape would find out.

And he knew he needed it, in order to figure out the fortress. There had to be a clue in the dreams, visions, or whatever they were, that would tell him how to get there or where it was. But Ron and Hermione probably wouldn't understand if he said he wanted to take a potion that could possibly kill him.

So he told them about the boggart and his and Snape's truce, and everything else that had happened, then said he was tired and pretended to go to sleep. But, his mind was still racing with a million different possibilities that might help him figure out everything, and he couldn't imagine falling asleep any time soon. Certainly, it would be near to impossible for him to clear his mind.

After a few sleepless hours he gave up, getting out of bed and slipping down to the common room, then out the portrait. The fat lady didn't say a word, snoring in her frame, as he swung it open and stepped out, needing to clear his mind and figure out his next step.

Amusingly, though, it was decided for him.

"Don't suppose you've seen my sweater?"

He started at the voice, and turned to see Luna standing there, blue eyes large and luminous, even in the hallway's dim light. She was holding her wand nonchalantly, although she looked much more alert than she usually did during the day.

"Er," he said, confused. "I don't think so."

"Did you get my letter?" she asked, stepping closer. Harry nodded, uncomfortable now.

Luna smiled. "And?" she pushed. "Well?"

Harry hadn't thought about it much, too busy with everything else confusing his life, but now the answers seemed clear. "I'm not exactly relationship material," he pointed out, using a phrase he'd heard Lavender say about some seventh year Ravenclaw. "And I've got a Dark Lord out to kill me."

The words sounded ridiculous, but were true. He didn't have time for relationships or even his homework. He had a job to do, and he was damn well going to do it.

But Luna took his hand suddenly, warm and somehow comforting, and smiled again, moving closer still. "I know," she said. "And everyone thinks I'm crazy," she pointed out.

Harry frowned. "You're not crazy," he stated. She laughed lightly, eyes on his face.

"Not everyone needs to know that, though," she confided. Harry felt himself getting pulled in by the late hour and hypnotic lilt of her voice. This felt…right…as nothing had in a long time.

Cho…Cho had been a mess, looking for someone to listen to her cry about Cedric. As if she'd been there when he'd been killed. They had never stood a chance.

But Luna…she had helped in the Department of Mysteries, had put up a great fight, and had stood by him since the beginning, even if it was in her own odd ways. She was saner than most people he knew, himself included.

And, if he understood her right, she was interested in him in _that_ way.

And he was starting to think he felt the same.

The silence had grown, stretching into several long minutes, before Harry finally spoke again. "I can't promise you anything."

"Promise you won't give up," she said back almost instantly. "That's all I ask."

And he nodded, and suddenly he was kissing her in the dark hallway.

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He told Ron what had happened the next morning, wondering if he'd gone off the deep end on this decision or not.

But the red head had just laughed and said he'd seen it coming. "She's been mooning after you for a year and half now, mate," Ron said. "I was starting to wonder when you'd notice."

Harry eyed Ron suspiciously, honestly knowing the red head wasn't the most observant when it came to personal lives. "How did you notice?" he demanded.

Ron looked slightly sheepish. "Hermione," he admitted. "I swear, girls need manuals or something."

Harry wholeheartedly agreed, but didn't say anything since Hermione had just come out of her dorm room, coming down the short flight of stairs to meet them in the common room before they went to breakfast.

"What are you so happy about this morning?" she asked as they walked down the hallway.

Harry glanced sideways, to be sure she was talking to him, and Ron laughed. "Someone had a little late-night rendezvous," Ron hinted.

Hermione smiled, patting his arm. "Finally, Luna acted," she said without hesitation. It was actually slightly disconcerting, Harry decided, that she was able to figure things out so quickly. He certainly hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary, and as far as he'd known, Ginny still had her 'thing' for him.

Although he didn't get a chance to see Luna until lunch, his day became interesting long before then.

Because his scar began to burn, as it had for so many years before.

It started, unluckily, in Potions. A stab of pain lanced through his head…through the scar, he quickly realized…and he couldn't stop a small sound escaping his mouth in surprise and pain. And, of course, Snape heard and whirled to face him, mid lecture.

"Mr. Potter!" Snape said sharply. "Is there something you wish to add to the discussion?" he demanded.

"No, sir," he said sullenly, but rubbed at his scar. He thought he saw comprehension of the significance of that action dawn in the man's eyes, but he couldn't be certain. The sharp pain in his head was dulling now to a steady ache that made his eyes burn and his stomach nauseous.

He caught Hermione's eye from the row ahead of him, and she nodded slightly, looking concerned. His scar hurting was not a good sign, especially since he thought he'd been occluding fairly well, especially during the past few weeks.

When potions ended, his friends cornered him immediately. "You have to tell Dumbledore," Hermione insisted.

"I'm with her on this one, mate," Ron agreed.

Harry sighed, nodding and absently rubbing at the mark. "Yeah, you're both right," he agreed. "I just wish I knew what it meant," he muttered, then realized suddenly that he could probably find out.

Not now, but tonight.

And he couldn't tell Ron or Hermione.

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As he'd thought, Dumbledore had been able to tell him nothing concerning what Voldemort might be up to, and the idea he'd been mulling over suddenly became his only option.

Which led to his present situation, seated on his bed with the drapes drawn and the vial of potion stolen from Snape in his hand. He eyed it, breathing deeply to control his apprehension, and unstoppered the vial. He couldn't back out. He had to use it now, and hope he could find something useful. Voldemort had already been given too much time. Harry knew he couldn't afford to let the monster have any more.

And with that thought, he tipped the vial down his throat, swallowing it all.

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A/N: Sorry, wrote this while really, really tired. As in I haven't slept in…25 hours now, and it makes me kind of incapable of spelling, grammar, and stringing together sentences. Oh well.

I'm highly disappointed in this chapter…everything's kind of getting scrambled and mushed here, as I try to figure out how to get from where I'm at to the last bits of this story, which are ready and waiting to be posted.

I'd like to thank all those wonderful reviewers that have asked me to continue—I wouldn't have, otherwise. Life, other interests, and everything else in between has made it difficult for me to keep my attention on this story.

On a happier note, I'll be posting some new short stuff soon, including one piece that's supposed to be a humorous little thing about a funky epiphany I had the other day…

Thanks,

MissLaine


	38. An End and a Beginning

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling. Not me.

A/N: This was hard to write, and had I had to redo it probably ten times just to get it half-right. If I were a better writer, this would be much more emotional and eloquent, but I've done my best. Hopefully, it's all right. Sorry for those of you that hate when this happens in a story.

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It felt as if he were falling, rushing through dark skies. He wasn't afraid; he'd already oriented himself and _knew _he was dreaming. Or having a vision, or whatever you wanted to call it. He wouldn't get hurt.

And, sure enough, he landed without any pain in deep, waving grass that rustled about his knees in the strong winds. Dark clouds were shadowing the night sky, threatening a great storm, but as of yet there was no rain or thunder.

He was much closer than he had ever been to the fortress, and he approached with obvious trepidation, fearful of the huge stone building. His dream felt odd—it was not quite normal, even for him, and he was feeling leery of the stone walls.

There was a brilliant flash of light. The storm and begun, and lightening was brightening the world every few moments.

He paused to look around, taking in the wind-whipped grass, the death eaters circling around the lone figure like a pack of dogs, and the dead girl. Lightening was crashing around him, somewhat muffled but still deafening, and suddenly rain spattered around him.

Last time, on holiday, he had had to touch the stones to see the real world again. He could feel a sense of foreboding build in his chest at the thought of touching the wall in front of him, but he was drawn to it. He reached out with one hand, forcing himself to step forwards and touch the cold stone.

When he put his hand flat against the stones for the first time, they were only cold and still. Apparently, he wasn't going to see anything outside of this place as he had hoped, so instead he pressed his other hand against them, feeling the thrum of power that was shivering in the stones. This place was well protected, filled with magic and almost…alive.

He relaxed slightly, relieved by the stones and their power, and started trailing along the wall, looking for an entrance. If he wasn't going to be pulled out of the vision by touching the fortress, then perhaps he'd have enough time to figure out how to get into it, or how to get to it in the real world.

He needed to get into the fortress. That was the whole point. Get in before Tom did. Make sure Tom didn't wield this place as some sort of awful weapon.

It hadn't been meant for that, though it was predisposed to such a purpose, and he wouldn't let it come to that.

He circled around to the left, keeping the fortress within arms reach, and scanned the horizon, looking for any sort of notable feature to the land.

A crack of lightening lit up the water raging below the fortress, and he searched it quickly. There was a small island just off the coastline, with what looked like a few scraggly trees upon it, but it probably wasn't large enough to be on any map.

The next flash of lightening gave him a moment to look at the coastline itself, the dark trees reaching to the very edge before turning into a rocky, dangerous shoreline. Wild waves were crashing down upon the stones, sending their own rumblings through the air, but there was nothing prominent. Just rocky shoreline.

He turned away, placing a hand on the fortress once more.

Again, nothing happened. It remained cool, wet stone. He started forward again, keeping his hand trailing along the rock.

He didn't make it more than a dozen feet before it happened.

There was a great moaning sound, as if everything around him was crying out in pain, and he tried to pull away—only to find that his hand was stuck to the stones as had happened several times before, and he was bound in place by some invisible strength.

He pulled harder, his harsh breathing drowned out by the sounds of…_pain_, and suddenly his vision clouded and he was no longer on the grassy hill. He was being pulled into a vision inside the vision, as had happened before.

But not quite like this.

"_Traitor."_

His vision was swimming back into focus. He was inside a room, lit by dim torches. A tall form stood over a crouched figure.

"Master, I—"

"_Silenssse!"_

He was half-kneeling, hand suspended in front of him, no less than ten feet from his enemy. No one reacted to his presence, so he knew he wasn't really there, but it felt real. Much more real than any of his other 'real' visions.

It _seemed_ real. He could feel the wafting air from the torches, he could hear muffled sounds coming from other rooms…he was there yet he wasn't there.

"_Fool."_

Bile rose in this throat. It was Tom, leaning over some hapless…

He saw dark hair curtaining a bowed head.

Merlin, he thought with horror. It was Snape. Why was Snape there!

"_You have mocked me with your betrayal long enough, Ssseverusss!" _Tom had never seemed more angry.

Snape was going to die. He knew it without a doubt.

There was no way for him to escape, no way for him to get away from this terrible fate.

And he knew it was going to be horrible. Tom loved to torture, he loved pain.

And he hated betrayal.

"I don't know what—" Snape tried, voice disgustingly submissive to this monster. Harry's heart twisted, hearing Snape have to debase himself to this…thing.

"_Crucio!"_

If Harry hadn't been half-expecting it, he would have screamed. Never before had he felt curses while in these visions, but, as he'd realized earlier, tonight was different. Everything had changed.

As it was, he still half-cried out, biting his tongue hard as pain scorched through his body. He was on his knees, hand still held up in the fortress wall, though he could not see it, and he writhed in agony, barely able to keep his eyes on the scene before him.

Snape too was writhing in pain, though he did not scream once. His body was twitching and convulsing grotesquely, and Harry wished he could look away.

But someone had to see. Someone had to remember that Snape had died with pride, without begging once. Without crying out even once.

"_Finite Incantatem."_

Harry gasped in relief, body shuddering with the echoes of the curse, and checked on Snape. The man was on his hands and knees now, gasping for air.

"My Lord—"

"_I have not been your lord for some time, Ssseverusss," _Tom hissed. _"Do not think you can fool me! You housed the boy for a week and more, without bringing him to me! And do not even try to suggest that you could not!"_

Snape looked up suddenly, eyes narrowed and burning with hate. "You're a bloody bastard, Voldemort!"

Red eyes widened in shock at those brazen words.

"May you rot in hell!"

_Gryffindor_, Harry thought with a moment's dark amusement. He would remember that as well. Snape was no coward.

"Albus will destroy you."

"_Crucio!"_

Harry couldn't help the scream this time. The pain was worse, much worse, as if Tom's hate had somehow quadrupled in an instant. He knew he was hitting the stones in front of him, thrashing with unstoppable agony as if trying to escape it all.

But he didn't lose consciousness, and neither did Snape.

He did not hear the end of the spell, nor did he feel much relief from it. He was shaking so badly that he could barely lift his head, and he could see that Snape was struggling to keep his eyes open.

"_Legillimens!" _the monster hissed.

Harry's eyes went wide. There was no way Snape could resist the spell. Not as weak and injured as he now was.

Something slimy seemed to be clawing at his mind, digging through it. It was as if the very fingertips of Tom's spell were reaching past Snape and into his own head, through this odd connection that they were somehow sharing.

He occluded his mind as best he could, trying to somehow send Snape some of his own strength, but he didn't know if it worked. Snape was panting in pain, eyes shut tightly, and Harry didn't have a chance to see if Tom had pulled anything from Snape's exhausted mind.

Because at that moment the wall to his left exploded in a shower of stone and mortar.

And his heart plummeted.

Albus Dumbledore stood there, eyes blazing with unhidden fury and wand held aloft.

But he stood alone. There was no order with him, no one to watch his back. And Harry knew that there were too many—too many for Albus to possibly escape. He was incredible, powerful, everything, but he was not invincible.

He could almost feel the smugness of Tom as he saw this new development. He had over one hundred Death Eaters at his back, and he was at full power.

_No, no no no nonononono,_ Harry screamed in his head as Dumbledore strode forward, anger on his face and concern starting to creep into his eyes as he saw the crumpled figure of his spy.

No one moved as Dumbledore approached Snape and knelt at his side, a wizened hand lifting him up. "Go."

Snape did not react to the word at all, his eyes cloudy and unfocused.

But it did not matter. In an instant, the man was gone in a flash of light and the spell in the room was lifted.

Voldemort shouted, enraged, and the battle began.

Harry wanted to scream, to help, to do something. He raged and struggled against whatever force held him, determined to help the headmaster, but in the end he couldn't escape.

Instead he had to watch everything.

He had never seen such fighting. Dumbledore used spells that he had only read about, spells that no one dared use. The sheer power and skill of the old wizard was overwhelming, and still it was not enough.

A sparkling blue shield shattered under a curse sent by Tom, and blossoming flames were quenched with water from a dozen wands.

Golden streams of something melted away when hit with two dozen counter-curses, and even when more than a dozen death eaters lay unconscious or dead there were many more available to take their places.

There was no way that Dumbledore could win. It just wasn't possible, and even if he'd had the entire Order at his back, they would have been mowed down. A dozen cannot hope to win against hundreds, though they may and would have tried.

He watched another one of Dumbledore's spells get shattered by sheer numbers. This was ridiculous. It was impossible, he told himself, none of this was happening. But it was, and he had to watch it. He had to witness it all, as the Death Eaters wore down the old man, until finally a reducto curse slammed into his leg.

The wizard toppled, and Harry screamed in pain and denial. His own leg burned with agony, but that was unimportant. His eyes were on the fallen hero, the mentor that now faced his last moments on Earth.

The old man raised his head proudly, glaring defiantly at Tom. "You have lost this war, Tom," he said calmly. "You cannot avoid it."

"But I have won this battle, old man!" Tom snarled, eyes blazing.

He slashed downward with his wand. Harry's eyes were fixed on Dumbledore's, and for a moment he was sure the old man saw him. A soft smile and twinkle convinced him, and he tried to smile back through his tears and pain.

The wizard winked and relaxed backwards. The blue eyes dimmed and lost their focus. There was red at Dumbledore's mouth, Harry realized. There was red everywhere.

The old wizard mouthed something weakly as he collapsed. And was still.

Tom laughed maniacally and Harry screamed again. He struggled blindly, trying to avoid looking at those suddenly sightless blue eyes behind their glasses and the now cooling body.

Pain lanced across his face.

He struggled harder.

Again, pain in his face.

Someone was slapping him.

His hands were finally tearing free of the stones, as if they were ripping apart…

"Wake up—"

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"—Harry!"

He woke up with a scream, sitting up and twisting sideways to vomit over the side of his bed. He looked up blearily, shaking so badly that he could barely hold himself up, and realized that he'd just deposited his half-digested dinner into Hermione's lap.

She didn't seem to have noticed, though. Her eyes were on him, full of worry and fear.

"Dumbledore's dead," he muttered. "He's dead!"

"Harry, you're delirious," Hermione cried out. "You've been screaming off and on for an hour now!" He saw she was holding the empty vial. "What did you take?" she demanded.

He shook his head vehemently. "Get McGonagall, get someone!" he demanded.

"Harry…she's coming," he heard Ron say. He twisted around to see his other best friend sitting at his other side, face drawn and white. "What happened? What are you talking about?"

Harry glanced over as he saw movement, and realized Hermione was vanishing the mess from her lap. "Saw it…Snape…tortured…Dumbledore got him away…but…but…"

He gasped in and out, suddenly unable to breathe properly. Something was blocking his lungs. He was suffocating…

"Harry, you're going into shock," he heard Hermione say, voice tense with held back emotion. "You've got to stop hyperventilating!"

He tried to listen to what she said, but the image of the dead headmaster was burned in his mind.

Dumbledore. Dead.

Dead, dead, dead….his mind was running circles, unable to wrap around something so terrible.

"Mr. Potter!"

He looked up at McGonagall, eyes still unfocused. He would have asked for his glasses, but he wasn't sure he could form the words.

His mouth opened and closed twice—he couldn't make any words come out.

"Dumbledore," he finally managed. "Dead…"

His air finally ran out, and he couldn't seem to draw another breath in.

His eyes rolled back in his head, and he wasn't even aware of his head hitting his pillow.

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He awoke in an instant, eyes snapping open and darting frantically around the room…

Where was he?

White walls, white bed, white sheets…the infirmary, he realized. He could hear soft muttering, but that wasn't what had awakened him.

Something important had happened…something…

Merlin.

Merlin, no…

Albus Dumbledore was dead.

He threw back the covers and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, intending to look for someone, anyone, and tell them what had happened.

But when his left foot touched the ground he half-screamed and collapsed, dagger-like pains jabbing his knee and all the way up through his hip.

He fell hard on the tiled floor, too dazed and pained to catch himself, and struggled to get back up.

But every moment caused him pain, and every thought fueled his panicked state of mind.

His knee slammed into the bedpost next to him, and he cried out again before he passed out.

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Muttering woke him.

It was somewhere to his left, and he realized he was in the infirmary. He didn't know why, but it was a pretty common occurrence, so he didn't worry about it.

Stiffly, he sat up, trying to remember just why he ached so badly. Had he fallen from his broom? That didn't seem right…

Something terrible had happened, he remembered. He vaguely recalled waking up in the infirmary sometime recently, but couldn't remember the details. Something…

The muttering distracted him, though, and he got to his feet and tottered forward unsteadily, squinting at the bed in front of himself. For some reason, his left knee felt as if it had been run over by a herd of hippogriffs, and the rest of his body ached in a disturbingly familiar manner.

He eyed the bed he was walking towards. Someone was lying on their back, staring up at the ceiling.

Someone with black hair and eyes…Snape, he realized.

"Sir?" he asked, voice quiet.

The wizard sat up in an instant, hands reaching like claws to grab his robe's collar and yank him forward until they were face to face.

Harry was frozen in shock, staring into those burning eyes.

"He knows!"

"S-Sir?" he asked, confused.

"He knows!"

The hands released him and he fell backwards, barely managing to keep from landing on his back.

He watched in shock as Snape relaxed back onto his pillow, muttering incoherently once more.

And suddenly he remembered everything, all that he had seen and felt and heard…

His stomach was already empty, but he heaved anyway, muscles spasming painfully as he dry heaved over and over, his mind fixed on that last moment, when had look into the headmaster's dimming eyes.

It couldn't be real. There was no way it was real.

Frantic, he pulled up his pant leg—and saw the swollen, bruised, and scarred skin…in the same place as the Reducto Curse had hit Dumbledore.

He tugged at his shirt—there was a long, pale scar across his chest…

The fatal blow—the long slash across Dumbledore's chest…mirrored upon his own body…

It had happened. It had _all _happened.

"No. No, no, nono," he said, voice disturbingly steady and quiet. He backed away, still on the floor, still muttering, trying to deny it, and was suddenly bathed in blinding light.

"Harry!" he heard shouted. Hands were on him, trying to get him to his feet, but he shoved them away, swinging blindly until they let him fall back to the floor.

"Get…get away!" he shouted. "It's not true!"

"Voldemort has just sent his…body…back to us," he heard a soft voice say. "It's true…Albus is dead…"

"NO!" he shouted. "It was a lie! Tom's trying to trick me!"

"Harry, please!" he heard a tearful voice plead.

"SHUT UP!" he screamed. "It's not true!"

"Harry, I love you."

He blinked, and looked up sharply.

Mrs. Weasley stood there, eyes soft and warm. He had never seen such sorrow and compassion in her eyes before, not even when he had lain in the infirmary after his fourth year, nor when he'd had the vision about Mr. Weasley his fifth. Not even when Sirius had died.

She had never said 'I love you' before, either.

"I—I don't know what…" he groaned. He let her kneel beside him, looping her arm around his and pulling him to his feet. He looked down, embarrassed by his emotional breakdown, but the woman held him tightly, and for a moment he felt as if he were in his own mother's arms, safe and protected.

"It will be all right," she promised. "I won't let it be any other way."

"All right…" he said softly, echoing her. "It can't be true…he can't be dead," he told her softly. "It was a dream."

"It will be all right," she promised. "You have to sleep."

He was too dazed to resist as she led him back to his bed, and he greeted Ron and Hermione as if in a daze, letting Hermione smooth his hair in a motherly gesture. He felt a light hand on his shoulder, and turned to see Luna there, eyes soft with worry, and he managed a half-smile before he turned away.

His eyes were starting to slip closed when he saw the man in the other bed.

_He knows…_

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Dumbledore looked like he was sleeping, Harry decided. His eyes were closed, hands folded on his chest, and the gaping wound that had existed across his torso was gone. He was whole, he looked unhurt, and he was absolutely still.

The wizard that had guided…sometimes, admittedly, manipulated…him was gone. He'd always imagined that Dumbledore would be there to help him defeat Tom, but now he was alone.

He reached out a hand, as if wanting to wake the headmaster, and stopped, hand shaking, and let it drop back to his side. There was no need to deny it, he told himself. It was done. He couldn't change it.

Dumbledore had done what he needed to do to save Snape, and there was no taking it back. It was just too ironic that the headmaster had died for an insane man…

He turned and left the small alcove and went to the only patient in the hospital wing.

Snape lay just as he had the day before, muttering softly and staring at the ceiling.

"What does he know?" Harry asked aloud. "What did he find out from you?"

Mutters were the only response, and Harry wondered at the sick irony that his life had suddenly become. It hadn't been that long since he and Snape had finally settled their difference, and now that was all gone. None of it mattered, because Snape didn't recognize him nor anyone else.

_He knows…_

He was very afraid of what those words meant.

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Luna kissed him softly, lips pressing against his for a long, sweet moment. He sighed against her, loving her warmth and life. She was what he needed so badly in his life, and it was amazing to know just how wonderful she truly was.

Ron and Hermione had backed off to give them a little space, respectful of Luna's place in his life, and he wondered just what it was that he'd done to deserve such incredible friends. Certainly, he hadn't done a thing recently, and he couldn't imagine getting the chance to do anything anytime soon.

He let his hands wander across her lower back, feeling her soft skin and warmth beneath his fingertips. She felt so right, so wonderful and alive…

"I'm afraid," he said. "What happens now?"

"We fight," Luna said softly. "We have no choice."

"I don't want to lose anyone else," he admitted.

"You haven't lost anyone," she told him softly, voice dreamy. "They are all still there…you just have to look a little harder."

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He heard the soft crying before he knew who it was. He'd spent the entire day in a daze, going to classes on automatic, wondering when Dumbledore's death was to be announced and wondering if the school would manage without its headmaster.

And when he looked inside that empty classroom, his fears only increased. McGonagall sat at a desk, face buried in her hands while her shoulders shook with soft sobs. It was so…unlike…her that Harry stood rooted, afraid to leave her and afraid to speak. Her hair had loosened from its strict bun, stray pieces of gray falling around her shoulders, and her robes look rumpled and worn.

He made his decision and went into the room quietly, tentatively. McGonagall was the closest thing he had to a mother at Hogwarts, he knew, and seeing her like this only made him realize even more just how important she was in his life.

Cautiously he reached out a hand and touched her shoulder, half expecting her to leap up and tell him to get out.

But she only hesitated a moment, face still buried, and then looked up, smiling weakly. "Mr. Potter," she said softly, then cleared her throat forcedly. "Ah…"

"I'm sorry," Harry said. He wasn't sure what else he could say.

McGonagall's smile wobbled dangerously, then disappeared. "Fawkes has disappeared…"

Harry wasn't sure what to say. It seemed impossible that Fawkes could be permanently gone, but it wouldn't surprise him. That bird had been so attached to the headmaster… "I miss him," he said quietly, referring to the headmaster.

"Oh, dear…" McGonagall said softly. Harry got the idea that she wanted to comfort him, but within moments he was sitting next to her, _his _arm around her shoulders as she started to cry once more.

He wondered just how long she had worked with the headmaster, but didn't ask. It just didn't seem right. And although most of the staff disliked Snape, he knew that she respected and perhaps cared about him. She had lost him too…he didn't recognize her at all, didn't react to her voice or presence in any way.

Awkwardly, though admittedly crying women seemed to be a specialty of his, he kept his arm around her shoulders and let her cry, wondering what he was supposed to do.

But he knew the answer to that. He had to kill Tom. He had to do it, and he had to do it soon. He couldn't take another death, and, even more, he couldn't take watching others fall apart because of the deaths.

"It will be announced tonight," McGonagall said softly. "The ministry will be in uproar…there will be no way to stop panic from spreading."

"I have to kill him," Harry said aloud before he could stop himself.

"Don't even think about leaving this castle," McGonagall said, sounding almost like her old self. "We can't lose you now!"

"This has gone on long enough," he said firmly.

_He knows…_

"Oh damn…" he added. The words suddenly made sense. Everything fell into place.

And, if he had it right, everything was about to begin.

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A/N: Well, my 'Death of Dumbledore' may not have been that great, but I tried. I just don't like killing him off, so its hard to write. I've never imagined him dying, but it had to happen. Harry has to kill Voldemort on his own.

This is what I wrote about a year and a bit ago:

Funnily enough, I wrote this before the rumors of Dumble's death came out…it just seemed a necessary part of year six, and perhaps Rowling feels the same…as I'm writing this little blip now, it's only about twelve days from the release of HBP. Can't wait!

This is what I had to say about a week ago:

Ugh, I can barely read this now. Hopefully, you manage and can leave me a comment about it.

Thanks,

Miss Laine


	39. The Plan and the Purpose

A/N: Long time no write, but I've been busy busy busy. School's kicking my hiney, and then some. Sorry if there's grammar errors, etc, but no time to edit what with two exams, a paper, a party, a fieldtrip, and two quizzes this week. Give me a break, I'm just glad I can still read and write somewhat clearly.

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Chapter 39: The Plan and the Purpose

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He didn't waste a moment more of his time. Suddenly, everything that he needed to do and complete within the next twenty-four hours was crystal clear, and he gathered everything he needed with a calm efficiency that would have shocked even Hermione.

His friends were not in the dorm rooms, he noted only in passing, but he didn't look for them. He had to figure this out for himself.

And he had to do it now.

He settled down in the library, deep in the restricted section, and laid out everything he'd gathered up to that point.

The castle was in France.

It was hidden.

He could find it if he knew where to look.

It was on the water.

Voldemort knew where it was.

That was what worried him the most—Voldemort knew where the castle was, although Harry hoped he was still not sure how to go about entering the place. He figured that gave him a day, or less, to figure out how he was going to stop all this from happening.

He read through the pages of notes he had made, rifling through them quickly and with mounting frustration as he realized that he'd learned all he could from them, that Luna and Ron and Hermione and everyone else who knew hadn't been able to figure out anything more.

The fact that he had nothing left to go on was seriously limiting his options, and he was beginning to realize that his only option might end up being to go to Voldemort, alone, and face him tonight—before it was too late.

Again, he went through the notes, wracking his mind for anything he'd missed in his dreams, anything that would give him a clue as to where he should look or what he should do.

But nothing came to him, and he sprung from his chair, leaving the useless notes and drawings behind as he fled the library, determined to find someone who could help him.

Of course, only one person came to mind.

And said individual was currently little more than a vegetable in an infirmary bed.

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He approached the slumbering man slowly, cautiously, and wondered if Snape would even awaken.

The slight squeak of his shoe as he stepped forward answered that question, though, as the dark haired man practically leapt from bed, wand in hand and eyes wild. A blast of red light that probably should have knocked Harry of his feet only disappeared as his wandless magic made a random appearance, and he stopped moving, hands raised.

"Professor!" Harry exclaimed, alarmed. "It's me, Potter," he tried to explain. The potions master narrowed his eyes, looking ill and unsteady.

"You can't fool me, Voldemort," the man hissed. "You think to get the information from me…you think I'd tell Potter what I know? Ha!"

"What do you know?" Harry demanded, realizing that perhaps Snape had been holding back on him.

Not surprising, he realized.

"You're a fool to think I'd tell you," Snape snarled. "Reducto!"

"Protego!" Harry said, snatching his wand from his pocket. The spell was obliterated easily, and he sighed, frustrated.

"Snape, I need to know where the castle is!" he said, angry. "I'm sorry about what happened, and I know you're not better, but I HAVE TO KNOW!"

Snape was silent for several long moments, eyes thoughtful and cold. "I refused to tell you what I learned, Potter," he finally said, sinking back onto an empty bed behind him. "I knew what it meant, and I wouldn't tell you or Dumbledore or anyone."

"What do you know?" Harry demanded again.

"I can't…you won't win…a stupid boy…" Snape muttered.

"TELL ME WHAT YOU KNOW!"

"All you have to do…just apparate…just remember…" Snape said, after Harry's words had ceased to echo around the empty infirmary.

Harry didn't respond. Could it be that simple?

He'd been told that apparating to a location you'd never seen before wouldn't work—that you couldn't know enough detail to actually have a correct and real location in mind. But maybe Snape was right.

"How?" he asked, voice even.

"They aren't dreams…memories…"

Harry was out of the room before Snape had even finished speaking.

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He would have attempted it immediately, consequences be damned, if Hermione and Ron hadn't caught him trying to slip out the castle's front doors.

In point of fact, it was McGonagall who attempted to stop him first, eyes firm and arms folded. "You can't go out, Mr. Potter," she stated sternly. Harry glared.

"Why not?"

"First of all, I know you will do something rash and unthinking, hoping that it will end this all, and second…second…Voldemort has moved against Hogsmeade."

"What?!" Harry said, surprised that he hadn't felt anything from his scar.

McGonagall looked more exhausted and worn than he'd ever seen. "Word just reached us…over fifty Death Eaters have attacked…no word on casualties yet."

"Are the aurors there?" Harry demanded.

"They have just begun to arrive…" she told him.

"Are you sure Voldemort's with them?" he asked suddenly, a suspicion forming.

"It was assumed, with an attack of his magnitude…" she said, distracted as she looked past him.

"Harry!"

Hermione's half-scolding tone made him turn. "Where have you been?" Ron demanded.

"Uh…busy?" he said, irritated. "I'm running out of time, and Professor McGonagall won't let me out—"

"Why do you need out?" Hermione demanded. McGonagall just watched silently, still firmly planted against the closed door.

Harry hesitated again, unsure if he should be involving his friends in this.

But they clearly knew something was up, and he knew he couldn't lie to them convincingly enough to be let alone.

And so he told them, and the rest of the remaining D.A., what he'd learned.

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"Voldemort's found a way to get into the Fortress," he said to them heavily. Hermione and Ron both looked shocked. Of course, they were the only two that knew the entire implication of that simple statement.

"What?" Ginny said. Harry glanced at her, then at Luna. He felt bad for not being honest with her about it, but he'd liked being able to put it aside while he was with her.

"The Fortress," he explained. "Er…it's a long story, sort of, but…well, it's pretty much this really big, really old castle that's been closed up and hidden for hundreds of years. Since the four founders of Hogwarts built it, then abandoned it."

"And why is it important?" Ginny asked. Luna was watching him with eyes that he now saw as alert, not vacant.

"Because it's almost impenetrable. It's only supposed to be accessible to heirs of the four founders, and because I'm a descendant of Salazar and Godric, it's been… 'showing' …itself to me for some time," Harry explained. "The Fortress is only supposed to show itself when the last remaining descendant of the founders remains, but it's been fooled by thinking that Tom is dead."

"But…?" Luna said softly.

"But Tom's only kind of dead. Plus, he was resurrected with my blood, so he's heavily linked to me. He sees the castle, too, and he knew the significance of the visions long before I did," Harry explained. Luna reached out to touch his hand lightly, a gesture of comfort that he greatly appreciated, and then smiled at him.

"What is to be done?" she asked. Harry thought quickly.

"The attack's a diversion," he said. "It's meant specifically to get the Aurors and the Order out of the way. This time, there's no one around to save us if we get in trouble." He didn't have to say it, but they all remembered the year before. Without the Order, they would have all died.

"We can't wait for them to return, and we can't let them split to help us," Hermione said softly.

"No one should have to go anywhere," Harry said. "I'm the only one that can stop him from getting into the Fortress."

"No way you're going anywhere alone," Ron spoke up stubbornly.

Harry knew better than to fight it. Their best chance lay in making a good plan and sticking to it.

"We need to make our own diversion," Harry said. "There's going to be death eaters all over at the fortress's base. We'll have to distract them so I can try to get into the Fortress before Tom."

"Who says he isn't already in it?" Ginny challenged. Harry gave her a bleak expression.

"Because if he was, he wouldn't be attacking anywhere. He would have already won," he said. Ginny paled.

"W-where do we start?" she asked, face set. Harry nodded, then took out a blank parchment and fresh quill and began to draw.

"Snape told me what—"

"Snape!" someone hissed.

"Yes, Professor Snape told me how to get to the castle, and it's going to be kind of tricky, since I have to apparate there."

"Then how do we--?" Ron asked, dubious. Harry sighed.

"I'll have to side-along each of you," Harry decided. "You can back out now," he added quickly. "There's no reason for you to trust me or to even think I can do it, but I know I can do it."

"You can, Harry," Hermione said quietly. "You've always been good at apparating."

Harry smiled weakly in her direction. "Once we're all there, we'll have to start a fight, since we need to draw them away from the castle."

"How many did McGonagall say were in Hogsmeade?"

"Fifty, or more," Harry said. "That leaves only fifteen or twenty unaccounted for. The inner circle."

"That means all the worst ones," Ron muttered.

"After you guys distract them, I'll make my way to the castle. Once you seem me by the entrance, I want you all to get out. Voldemort will be after me—you can't help that—but those Death Eaters will be out to kill all of you."

"We're not leaving you," Ron said stubbornly.

"You can't help me once I'm in the castle, since only Voldemort and I can get in it, and killing a couple of Death Eaters at the expense of one or more of you isn't worth it!" Harry snapped, frustrated.

"I understand, Harry," Hermione said quietly.

"We won't leave if we think we can help you, Harry," Ginny pointed out honestly.

"We're in this to the end," Neville nodded with agreement. "We're not little kids anymore."

Harry looked around, and realized Neville was right…they hadn't been kids in a long time…and it was saddening to realize that they'd all lost their youth to this war.

"All right, let's go through this in more detail," he said, and they fell back to the task at hand.

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"Ready?" Harry asked quietly.

He could only see Hermione, the others strung out behind her as they made their way towards Hogwart's front doors—the quickest way out of the castle.

His friend nodded, eyes wide but fearless, and he started forward.

Only to see that the front doors were no longer guarded. That made things much easier, he decided, as they crept to the doors, unlocked them, and slipped out into the night. Hermione turned as they left, shutting the doors and waiting to be sure that they automatically re-locked themselves.

"Look," Neville whispered. Harry turned, and all six stood in silence as they turned towards the dull orange glow of the skies above whatever was left of Hogsmeade. "They've burned it…"

"We can't help," Harry said decisively. Hogsmeade was a small price to pay if it kept fifty Death Eaters away while they stopped Voldemort. The aurors were there, and they would do what they could, and he just hoped that the fighting didn't reach Hogwarts.

Because, apparently, there was no one left to defend the old castle.

"We'd better get moving," Ron muttered, edging towards the front gates. Harry turned as well, and the six ran across the lawns, wands held tight but unlit. Harry half-expected to be stopped by someone—anyone—but they opened the main gates and walked out unhindered.

"So this is where you're going to have to trust me," Harry said seriously, as they stood in the shadows. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't think it would work," he promised.

"I wouldn't let you do it if I thought you'd mess up," Ron muttered. Ginny poked him.

"Harry won't mess up," she scolded him. "Right?"

"He's been there before—there's no reason to worry," Luna put in.

Hermione nodded, wand clutched tightly in her hand. "Don't splinch us, Harry," she asked.

"So who wants to be first?" Harry asked. Hermione sighed. "Why not?" she asked, then grabbed his arm tightly.

Ron opened his mouth, hesitated, and then said, "If you splinch her, you'd better fix her too," he warned. Harry laughed humorlessly, already concentrating on the apparation.

"Great encouragement," he said back, then shut his eyes, focusing with clear determination on the most recent image of the castle that had appeared in his mind. Dark trees whipping in the wind, huge stone walls looming behind him…

He flicked his wand as he'd been taught, and felt the familiar sensation of his body moving hundreds of miles away.

"Harry!"

Hermione was looking around in shock and awe, and Harry let her go, stumbling back a step. She turned to him, and he steadied himself quickly. "You did it!" she said, and he felt a slight twinge of resentment in the fact that she sounded so surprised.

"I said I could!" he said defensively. She rolled her eyes, and then flinched in surprise as lightening suddenly split the sky. When it faded, she'd turned to face out across the open fields to their left.

"It's huge…Harry…" she whispered, staring up at the imposing stone walls of the fortress. "If Voldemort gets in there…"

"He won't," Harry said firmly. "He can't."

"I can see people moving around," she commented.

"I know," Harry agreed, having seen the dark shadows slipping through the meadows. "Stay hidden," he ordered, and then focused again on Hogwart's gates.

He appeared with only a slight pop, and the other four looked relieved to see him. "You took an awful long time," Ron commented. "Hermione's all right, isn't she?"

"Fine," Harry said. "We just stayed a moment to see what was going on. The Death Eaters are already there."

"Then we'd best get moving," Ron said, stepping forward. Harry readied himself, and focused again.

Ginny was next, then Luna and then Neville.

By the time he and Neville appeared, whole and unhurt, beside the others, though, Harry could feel the exhaustion sapping at him. He didn't know how often one was supposed to do side-along apparations, but he didn't think it was five times in a row.

Refusing to admit he was tired, though, he turned to his friends as they huddled together in the forest at the edge of the clearing, getting ready to make their move.

Harry scanned the meadow, searching hard every time lightening lit the sky, and spotted over half a dozen dark shapes moving between them and the enormous stone fortress behind them.

"You'll have to pick them off one a time…or else they'll surround you," he told them. Ron nodded, and Harry could see his strategy-trained mind going to work, determining where to start and how to best use the others to their advantage.

"What about you?" Ginny demanded.

"I'm going to work around the back, stay low, and try to get to the castle first," Harry said, voice flat and sure.

"But—" Hermione started, then stopped. "You're right," she agreed. "Just…just be careful, all right?" she asked. Harry smiled, though he knew she couldn't see it in the dark.

"I'll do my best," he promised. "As long as you guys don't get yourselves killed, all right?"

They all nodded, and Harry put up with the quick hugs of the girls, and Ron and Neville's handshakes. "Good luck," he said seriously, then slipped off into the darkness, eyes now trained solely on the dark shapes between him and goal.

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A/N: We got like three chapters left here, and then its all over! This thing is so out of date now its sad, but I hate to leave it unfinished. So hang in there, and hopefully I'll be done before the year 2006 ends.

Thanks for all the wonderful support!

Miss Laine


	40. Taking a Stand

A/N: Here we go again!

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Chapter 40: Taking a Stand

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Harry saw that their diversion was failing. His friends were being overrun with the dozens of death eaters half-way encircling them. They would not escape, unless he made his presence know now.

It was breaking the plan. It was too early. He would not be able to reach the castle before Tom caught up to him, and he would certainly not be able to get inside and behind the walls before Tom came.

But his friends…he could see them, struggling, all still conscious but only Luna, Ron, and Hermione still fighting back. Ginny was staggering, looking pale and clutching her side, and Neville was trying to help her stay upright, his own left hand covered in blood. They wouldn't last long.

He had to break from their plan to save them, he knew without a doubt. This would not end like it had the year before, when his Godfather had died. When Sirius had fallen, trying to help him.

And so he raised his wand, shooting out a bright stream of red and gold sparks. "I'M OVER HERE, TOM!" he shouted above the wind and rumbles of the gathering storm. "PERHAPS IT'S TIME TO FACE ME!" he added, knowing that would irk Tom greatly. "I'M WAITING, TOM!"

And he smiled humorlessly as the monster turned, turned away from the teenagers fighting for their lives. "POTTER!" Tom shouted back. Harry gave the half-dead wizard a jaunty wave, then turned and ran for the Fortress, knowing that Tom would have no choice but to follow him in order to prevent him from getting inside.

When he looked back again, Tom and the death eaters had all turned to chase after him, gaining ground as Harry kept his pace purposely slow. He could see his friends, struggling to get away, and for a moment locked eyes with Luna across the field. She raised a hand in a half-wave, and he smiled and sent up more sparks to attract the rest of the death eaters. He hoped she realized that he wanted her to get away, to escape with the others.

He could see that all five of them were going to make it, though, and his thoughts turned back to himself, and his own very grim predicament. It wasn't until he was within fifty yards of the Fortress that he felt the first spells shoot past his shoulders. He turned, raising a strong shield, and let several spells bounce off of his defense. He dropped it in an instant, launching his own attack.

"Rictus!" he shouted. "Serpentsortia infinitus!"

A death eater bowled over from his first spell, paralyzed perhaps permanently, and the second unleashed a twenty foot long viper that immediately doubled, then doubled again, and again, and again until fifty or more great vipers slithered over the grass, striking out at the death eaters…until Tom aimed and destroyed the original viper. The others disappeared in writhing black ash, and Harry turned towards the monster of a wizard. "Infernus!" he shouted. Flames roared from his wand…only to curl away from the invisible shield surrounding Tom. Death eaters to either side screamed and fell back as flames licked at their robes, but Tom just laughed.

"Is that the best that the famed Harry Potter can do?" he asked condescendingly. "Surely you have more…deadly…spells at your disposal?"

"Electricus!" Harry snapped in return, watching the lightening bolts flick from his wand and take down several death eaters. He stood straight and steady as two stunners were absorbed by his passive magic shield, then stepped back quickly to avoid the green of a Crucio that would have impacted his knees.

"Reducto!" he said next, aiming at another death eater. The man raised a shield, then returned fire with some sort of strange curse that disappeared into Harry's shield. "Silencio permanus!" he said quickly, and smiled as the death eater was instantly and permanently muted.

"Very good, Potter," Tom said, striding forward, "But it will not be good enough. There is no Portkey here. There is no grave to hide behind tonight. Tonight, you will face me without running."

"Last time I recall you running from an old man," Harry said back, forcing himself to smirk. He kept his eyes on the remaining twenty or so death eaters, who were all working to encircle him.

He watched those red eyes burn with fury, and forced his mind closed. "You won't get anything from me, Tom," he said.

"My name is Lord Voldemort, boy," Tom said. "You would do well to remember that."

"Embarrassed to carry your _Muggle _father's name?" Harry taunted.

"I will have you screaming for mercy by the end of tonight," Tom snarled, raising his wand.

"I doubt it," Harry said flatly, then quickly stunned two death eaters working their way behind him.

"Doesn't Hawwy want to pway?" he heard. He snapped around, focusing immediately on that voice.

The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange, the woman who had killed Sirius. The woman who had meant that he'd never had a home, and never would. The woman that had taken his great chance at happiness from him. The woman… "Bellatrix," he snarled. "I recall telling you that if we met again, it would be the last."

Lestrange pulled back her hood and threw off her mask, grinning at him maniacally. "I don't remember you saying who would be left standing, Hawwy," she said, almost cooing his name. Harry's knuckles whitened around his wand and he remembered again that moment when Sirius had fallen…

"Discarpe," he growled, and watched as Bellatrix attempted a shield, suddenly recognized the virtually unblockable spell, and dove out of the way. Harry was shaken from his focus as he heard laughter.

"Very good, boy," Voldemort said, clapping. "Dark Magic…very good."

Harry turned away, refusing to let the words shake him. It was the _use _of the spell that determined its label, not its function. Bellatrix was a murderer. "Rictus, Infernus!" he said, one spell right after the other. Bellatrix laughed, blocking both, and fired off her own string of curses even as Harry shouted again, letting his passive magic take care of the curses.

"You've learned much this year," he heard Tom say, sounding approving. "Bella, you'd better watch yourself."

The wizard's voice was mocking, and Harry realized that Tom knew that Bellatrix wouldn't win, that she was outmatched by Harry's anger and determination. She had been lucky, had beaten Sirius because the man's overconfidence had relaxed his guard. Harry had no illusions about his power…or lack thereof…and he was determined to see this end.

"Corneus Impactus!" he shouted, as Bellatrix let loose several more curses. She did not notice the curse headed her way until it hit…and then she laughed, as the weak-looking soft white light seeped into her. Harry smiled, then ducked and rolled to avoid the Crucio she sent his way…the last spell she cast before her vision was cut off by his curse. "Infernus!" he shouted again, and watched as the flames slammed into the crazed death eater's body, sending her to the ground in a flaming heap. She was dead without a sound, the others around her unable to stop the flames in time.

Harry half-smiled, his revenge completed.

And in that moment he realized that he felt no satisfaction, no sense of closure.

And a moment after that, he realized that revenge had indeed blinded him.

"Expelliarmus."

That simple spell was going to cost him his life.

His wand was ripped out of his hand and he was thrown violently through the air, landing with a thud ten feet away. He rolled, getting to his feet as quickly as he could, and faced the monster that now held his wand, examining it with narrowed eyes.

"Odd, how such a thing can still my own wand," Tom murmured. "Brother wands were not meant to fight each other."

"Well, if you'd just stay dead, we wouldn't have this problem," Harry snapped, knowing words were his only weapon now.

"Hmm," Voldemort commented, then nonchalantly pocketed the wand and turned to face Harry. "I think a better solution is your own death, boy."

"Knowing you'll never get into this place if you do?" Harry bluffed. Voldemort sneered.

"You don't really think I believe that, do you?" Tom laughed. "Severus was quite right in telling you that I managed to rip all information about this castle from his feeble mind."

Harry's hands clenched into fists at the madman's mention of what he'd done to Professor Snape. Snape, who was still recovering, still trying to regain himself. "Severus Snape is ten times the man you would ever have been, " Harry growled. "Seeing as you've already died."

"I have never died," Voldemort coldly informed him. "Nor will I."

Harry smiled suddenly. "Are you afraid?" he asked.

Voldemort smiled back, refusing the bait. "The question, my boy, is; are _you _afraid?"

There was the harsh crack of a sickly-yellow lightening bolt, and then the rain began to pour earthward, as if the very oceans were cascading down upon those standing on that sodden hill.

He thought he heard a few coughs and sneezes from those surrounding him. They sounded like they were getting soaked, as was he.

Harry wanted to smile at the bitter irony. It would be fitting, he thought, if Voldemort and his followers caught pneumonia this night from standing out in the freezing rain.

He would not live long enough to catch any sort of virus. He would not even live long enough to be properly chilled.

There would be no retreat from this. Of that, he had no doubt. Here, at the foot of the Fortress, at the gates of the giant castle that he had worked so long to keep from his enemy, he would die. He would make his last stand, of course, would try his best, but it was much too late for him to win.

Again and again, he had dreamed of this place. Over and over he had seen how this would happen, and every time he had dismissed it…until the very end, when suddenly he had realized just how crucial this place was. The last stronghold. The only stronghold. A place that not even Dumbledore himself could break into.

And he had ignored it, like a fool, until it was almost too late. He had told himself that Voldemort wouldn't be able to find it, not if Dumbledore couldn't, and he had convinced himself that there was no real hurry, no real need to actively search for the Fortress on his own. He hadn't seen the extreme urgency of the situation until much too late.

He'd been an idiot for much too long, and it was going to kill him. At least, he had to admit to himself, he was going to attempt to fix this. He was going to try to make this right in the end, but he didn't hold out much hope. Not much hope at all.

He was wandless and he was alone.

And yet he stood on his own two feet, encircled by drenched death eaters and staring at each in turn, trying to let them get a feel for just how much contempt he held for them. His eyes rested a moment on the blackened corpse of Bellatrix Lestrange, and he wondered again at his own sheer idiocy. But it was not the time for that anymore, he told himself sternly.

He turned his back on them all, and faced Voldemort with his arms folded. "So this is it," he said, loud enough to be heard over the rumbling thunder and pouring rain. With every ounce of his being he tried to convey the impression that fear was the last thing on his mind.

His shoes squelched in the muddy grass as he walked towards Voldemort, just a few steps, so that they could see each other, eye to eye. "It all ends tonight, Tom."

"You will regret ever mocking me," Voldemort finally hissed, voice menacing. Harry smirked.

"Will I?" he asked insolently. He looked around, as if bored with the other man's words. "I don't think I will."

A bolt of lightening split an old, dead tree down the middle in a blaze of sparks and fire, and for a moment Harry's eyes strayed again to his folly…the smoldering remains of Bellatrix Lestrange. His final mistake.

The one that would cost him his life.

"Give me the key, and I will let you go free," Voldemort said. Apparently, he didn't want to have to force his way into the fortress unless he had no other choice. But he didn't understand. Harry hadn't, either, until these past few minutes.

He shook his head slowly, looking down and a somehow un-forced smile on his face. Voldemort still did not understand what the key was. He still did not understand that while the Fortress could be forced open, as Voldemort was planning to do, it would never be the impenetrable stronghold that he desired. Even with the supposed key, it would not reach its potential. It had to _want _you to open it. It had to welcome you into it. And it would never welcome Voldemort.

Of course, even breaking into it, as Voldemort could, would be enough. No one had ever done that before, and Harry knew now that Voldemort certainly had the power and the spells to break through the Fortress's defenses. Their shared blood, in more ways than one, would allow Voldemort access like no other…and Harry could not allow that.

"You're never going to control it," Harry said aloud. "It won't let you."

"You lie, thinking it will spare your life," Voldemort said angrily. Harry shrugged.

"Believe what you will, Tom," he said calmly. The more he could anger and upset Voldemort, the better. "It will get you nowhere."

"Then I have no use for you, it seems," Voldemort said. Harry shrugged again.

"It seems you are right," he agreed. "So what…are you going to try to kill me, again?" he asked.

Now that the moment had come, now that he was standing there, in the rain, in the dark, it did not seem so bad. Death did not seem too alien and frightening as it once had. It was so close that he could almost feel the border. The curtain was fluttering just out of reach. He could almost imagine Sirius and his parents standing there, waiting for him.

Voldemort opened his snake-mouth to say something in return when there was a commotion. Harry froze as he heard a girl's voice, and his insides twisted into horrified knots as he saw two Death Eaters coming forward, someone stretched between them.

"We found her hiding in the brush," one of the death eaters said. They had not been in the circle, Harry realized. They'd been watching for 'rescuers.' Harry swallowed convulsively, afraid of who it could be.

"She is not one of us," Voldemort said, then raised his lighted wand in order to illuminate the girl's face.

And it was Luna. Batty, sweet, intelligent, cunning Luna Lovegood, big eyes not so dreamy but rather calm and sharp. "I supposed you would find me eventually," she said calmly. "Of course, it was the Snorklumps that gave me away…"

"Luna," Harry whispered, voice full of regret and apology. He had told her not to follow him up the hill. He had told her to leave him, that he would petrify her if she didn't let him go. He had told her that he had to do it alone…there was no other way.

He thought she had understood, when he had drawn the attention away from her and their friends. She had smiled in _farewell_, he had thought. Why had she come back for him? Why?

"Oh, Luna." The girl smiled at him.

"Dear Harry," she greeted him, as if they were not both going to die.

"I'm so sorry," he begged, feeling agony like nothing before. "You were supposed to go back with the others!" She couldn't be here. She had to be heading back to Hogwarts, back to safety. He could only hope the others had left…though it sent a twisting pang through him, to realize that the one that mattered most to him was here, dying beside him.

He wished he could send her to Hogwarts. He wished he could save her. But. But, there was no way…

Blue eyes locked with his, and as he had many times before he felt himself drowning in their azure depths. There were no words to convey what she was telling him. _It was never your fault. _"I love you, Harry," she said aloud.

Voldemort's mouth twisted into a sneer. "How sweet," he hissed, "Potter's found himself a girlfriend."

There were laughs all around, and Harry snarled, opening his mouth to retort.

"Love is something you shall never understand," Luna said, beating Harry to any response he could have made.

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort said in response, face passionless, and Luna slumped forward.

She was dead.

Harry blinked. The death eaters dropped her body, dropped her in the mud, dropped her, let her fall…she was dead, she was murdered, the spare, never coming back…

His panicked thoughts ran circles around themselves as he realized that another had died for him, another had been killed because they were not what was 'important' to Voldemort…

And this time it was not just a person that he sort of knew. This was Luna, who he had only really just begun to understand and…love…

And she had understood him. He knew he didn't trust very many people, that he tended to shut those out that didn't try to understand his situation. And she had, she'd been patient and attentive and understanding. And now…

She was gone. Just like that. Dead. Lying there, on the ground. And he would never see her again…until his own death…

Although, from the way things were going, he did not think that he had much time left himself. Hell, he thought wryly, he might catch up to her within a few minutes. He had finally outlived his usefulness…

And he turned back to face Voldemort with a renewed strength, because finally his own time had come, it was finally the moment where he would die for others, where he would make his last stand and make it count. He would not have to see another die. Because _he _would be the one to die this time…

And he smiled, even as Voldemort raised his wand. He tried to brace for the curse, calling forth every ounce of passive magic in his control and knowing that it couldn't stop an Unforgivable, but an impact from behind caught him unawares. Blinding pain roared across his back, but he did not make a sound.

Because even as he realized that he should have known, should have suspected, that Voldemort would not let him die quickly, he also realized that this was it. No more waiting, no more wondering when it would be.

He would face his end bravely, just as bravely as Luna Lovegood had so suddenly faced hers.

The rain had not slowed. Harry felt as if he could count every drop as it hit his raw and bleeding back, and the mud underneath his body sucked at his arms and legs, holding him fast. His mind told him that he did not think he could escape it. His heart disagreed.

And so he struggled to get up, pulling himself up to his knees inch by inch, fingers scrabbling in the mire as he tried to gain purchase. His body burned with angry fire, pain burning through every inch of his being.

And still he staggered to his feet, for perhaps the dozenth time. He knew Tom had to be staring down at him again, the half-sneer of disbelief and insult on his lips as he watched his defeated enemy rise yet again.

"Crucio," Tom said with a snarl. Harry had not even made it to his feet this time—Tom had only let him get to his knees, swaying with bloodloss, before he had cast the Unforgivable.

He fell in a heap of dignity-stripping agony, thrashing and convulsing though no screams passed his lips. He would not cry out, not now, not after so long. He had remained silent this long—he could stay silent until he was dead.

Only vaguely did he feel the curse lift, the pain barely abating with its end. As the tremors eased, he slowly slid his arms closer to his body, bracing, pushing, heaving himself up once more.

A shattering bolt of lightening split the sky, and Harry looked up at the passive walls of the castle, of the building that had for so long haunted his dreams. Was it worth it? Did it matter?

In the end, all that mattered to him was that he was not broken. Voldemort could not break him, would never break him. There was hope in the world still…

"Why do you continue to defy me?" Tom demanded, sounding frustrated. "Surely you can see that you are defeated!"

Harry smiled through bloody lips, trying to focus his eyes on the man—no, creature—in front of him. "You will not win, Tom," he rasped out. "And I am not defeated."

A blow from the monster's fist sent him sprawling on his side once more, laid out flat in the blood-tinted mud. Flashes of lightening lit up the other death eaters encircling this scene, their white-masked faces stark and cold.

And there was another body lying in the mud, another corpse to haunt his soul. Her hair had been muddied and matted by the falling rain, and the water had washed away the grime on her face, leaving Luna staring up at the dark and stormy sky with wide but unafraid eyes.

"You are a fool to resist, Potter," Tom said loudly. "Once you are dead, there will be no stopping me."

"Someone will stop you," he said, a dreamy quality to his voice. It was so hard to focus on the world any more…everything seemed unreal, detached… "Light will always stop dark…"

"Perhaps you did not understand me, Potter," Tom said, "But you are going to die!"

Harry did not answer at first—all of his energy went into pushing himself up just once more, just one more time before it ended. Tom let him get to his feet this time, struggling against his waning energy and the driving rain until he stood, facing his enemy, facing his death.

"Tom," he said softly. "Tom, we are all dying."

There was an expression of pure fear on Voldemort's face for just a moment, but it was replaced by hatred just a moment later. Harry watched the monster raised his wand, and knew that this was it. Tom had finished playing.

And for a moment he thought perhaps that Sirius would have been proud of him, standing up for all that he believed in. Would Dumbledore have been proud, as well?

And for a moment, he thought of his friends, together with him as far as they could go. Would they grieve for him?

And for a moment, just a moment, he felt a thrill of fear for the unknown he was facing. Would he see his parents?

"Avada Kedavra!"

There was a flash of green, sickly and violent, and Harry felt as if the whole world was breaking apart with the curse. Was this how it felt to die?

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And the dark and stormy skies slipped away.

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A/N: No, it's not over! No, Harry's probably not dead. I can't kill him, not in this! It's only his sixth year! One year more!! Hang in there, there's probably two chapters left…one's going to be a little different, cuz I gotta explain what Ron, Hermione, Neville, and Ginny have been up to this whole time, and then I gotta explain what the hell just happened. A lot of explaining, overall.

Anyway, thanx and tell me what you think!


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